


Clockworks and Cold Steel

by Coneycat



Series: Housemates [5]
Category: Being Human (UK), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brother Feels, F/M, Gen, Past Abuse, Past Abuse of Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 144,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coneycat/pseuds/Coneycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is more than one beginning to any story. This one, it is true, started when a young soldier, alone in a wood in France, encountered monsters.</p><p>But it began again when another young man, on holiday in Scotland, went for a walk at the full of the moon.</p><p>When, on a dark night in an unfamiliar house, a young woman fell on a flight of stairs.</p><p>And once more, when a lost and desperate creature let go of the end of a spear.</p><p>These were the beginnings of the larger story, but within it there were others. This one began with a newspaper article, a faulty boiler, and a cup of tea in a snack bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** The prologue assumes Heimdall always distrusted Loki, and also addresses my (not so secret) conviction that anyone with any sense at all ends up more or less falling for Annie. 
> 
> I've tried to find out when and where Mitchell was actually turned as a vampire, but none of the sources I've checked gives a specific date or location, so I fudged it. George's pre-transformation rituals are taken directly from the show. 
> 
> **Warnings:** For past animal abuse.

_The Jotun changeling was a mad, ranting thing at the end, all hunger and rage and desperation; a hopeless creature that cursed and wept and finally, despairing, fell._

_Heimdall the Gatekeeper, the Guardian, had watched the false prince all its life. Saw it wrested from its mother and left to die on Jotunheim. Saw it beguile the eyes of a king who had needed no enticement to spare it, of a queen whose cool face concealed a heart too warm for her own protection, of a small prince too innocent to recognize the foe being nurtured at his side. Saw it left behind by the true prince, imagine itself overlooked and unwanted even by the king and queen who had saved it, fester in anger and jealousy._

_Heimdall recognized the threat, and Heimdall watched, and when the time came Heimdall played his part. The creature fell, disappeared into the void, under the uncomprehending eyes of its foster brother and the grieving gaze of the one it had called Father._

_That seemed the end, but the king hoped, and in his hope wove spells of protection, waiting as the stars moved around Asgard and Midgard for the creature to return._

_It reappeared on Midgard, a realm so far removed from the rest of the Nine that its ignorance had become nearly innocence. It was a realm on which one could begin again, unless bitterness and rage still clouded one's every thought._

_The creature had scarcely enough magic to break its own fall, hardly the strength to stand on its feet. It would have been easy prey for any foe, but abandoning it to enemies was not part of the king's plan, and so it fell into the hands of…_

_Not mortals. Not like the true prince. The creatures who found the changeling were not mortal, but they tried to live as mortals, and despite their powers-- and their awful potential for violence-- they tried to be harmless. Their dwelling was old and shabby-- even the Jotun should have been offended, to be expected to live in such a place after centuries in the palace at Asgard. Instead, the changeling seemed grateful, clung to one of the beings, the young female spirit, as if longing for any crumb of affection from her hand._

_On some parts of Midgard, there was a tradition of animals kept as companions, as "pets," solely out of affection and not for any useful reason. There was no such practice on Asgard. Perhaps that was why the creature had been unable to understand the Allfather's purpose in keeping it._

_Now, it seemed to comprehend, seemed grateful, was willing to submit as the spirit tried with smiles and gentle words to tame it._

_The Jotun was a creature of treachery and deceit, but it practiced no deceit on its new companions, nor did it betray them. There came a time when the changeling and the spirit faced monsters of their own, trying to protect the beings who shared their home, and the mortal woman who had befriended the true prince during his own disgrace._

_The true prince had faced such a test, had passed it, and had been saved by the Allfather's enchantments._

_No such enchantments existed to protect the changeling-- perhaps the Allfather thought none were needed, or perhaps the king was still placating the monsters his son had attacked. But the Jotun faced his test as his brother had. At his side was the spirit, who alone of her companions could not be harmed by these monsters, and the look on her face was of agony._

_Heimdall opened the Bifrost._

_Afterward, the prince did not seem to understand why Heimdall had acted, and Heimdall did not offer to explain. He was unsure, in fact, whether he had done what he did for the changeling at all. But he watched the boy cling to the new companions who had taken him in, who had helped him. He saw none of the old anger, and little trace of the hunger that for so long had seemed insatiable._

_After the prince and his friends had been returned to their dilapidated little home, Heimdall looked backwards. The Guardian saw all, though he paid little attention to that which did not affect the security of Asgard. But, if he chose, he could return his gaze to times past, to review that which had been seen but not specifically marked._

_He saw two young men encounter monsters, and rise up monsters themselves; saw them fight the violence in their nature and, eventually, succeed. He saw them arrive at the dilapidated little house, take up company with the spirit, watched the three beings begin to lean on each other, watched them give each other strength and friendship that, later, they also gave to the fallen prince._

_It was the spirit whose influence seemed strongest on the prince, and so Heimdall paid careful attention to her life and death. She was not remarkable, really, was only a mortal woman of no special talents. But she was trusting, was kind, was warmhearted-- was the last being in the Nine Realms who should have been put in the path of the treacherous changeling. And yet, he had not harmed her. He had allowed her to help him. It seemed largely because of her that the changeling had once again changed._

_The changeling had not betrayed her. But treachery was indeed known to the spirit, and so it was on the last night of her mortal life. She did not seem to know the manner of her death, or remember that she had been betrayed, but this was the reason she had not yet passed on to her rest. Heimdall had seen much and was rarely troubled… but this troubled him. In a house shared with monsters and one who had at least committed monstrous deeds, she was safe. However, betrayal had touched her, and could do so again._

_There was little he could do, and so Heimdall watched._

~oOo~

There is more than one beginning to any story. This one, it is true, started when a young soldier, alone in a wood in France, encountered monsters. 

But it began again when another young man, on holiday in Scotland, went for a walk at the full of the moon.

When, on a dark night in an unfamiliar house, a young woman fell on a flight of stairs. 

And once more, when a lost and desperate creature let go of the end of a spear.

These were the beginnings of the larger story, but within it there were others. This one began with a newspaper article, a faulty boiler, and a cup of tea in a snack bar. 

~oOo~

Loki sat with his wings folded, watching George snarl and rampage below. The night was cold, and despite his current form Loki felt it. He fluffed his feathers, then drew in his neck and tucked one foot into his belly as he balanced on the other. Spending a whole night as a creature as small as this snowy owl took a considerable effort of magic, and by now a headache lingered at the edges of his consciousness. 

No matter: a cup of tea with a lot of sugar, and if necessary a couple of pain tablets, would sort him out in the morning. For now, he was grateful the amount of noise George was making had frightened all the scuffling small creatures of the forest into their burrows. 

It was not so much that Loki had gotten to the point where he felt guilty about killing _anything._ Such an attitude would be hypocritical even for him, especially considering the ham sandwich he intended to have for his lunch at work tomorrow-- to say nothing of the leather jacket he had left on top of his neatly folded clothing, in the abandoned building where he and George had both transformed. No, his primary concern regarding mice and shrews and the like was, if he gave in to the urges of the body he occupied, he was apt to forget the reason he was out here in the woods, in owl-form, in the first place.

It was Annie who spotted the newspaper story, just after the last full moon. Some extraordinarily fortunate human, apparently wishing to escape the streetlights and other illumination of Bristol, had taken a telescope into the woods outside the city to look at the sky. He had very wisely climbed a tree when he heard the sounds of a ravening animal in the distance. Everyone's luck had held: the creature had not come close enough to sense his presence. The human had stayed in the tree until the sounds moved away, then climbed down, took his telescope, and hastily returned to his home. 

And then, of course, he had called the police with a garbled tale of some sort of beast in the forest outside the city. A journalist in contact with the police department had then written a story speculating that a rabid feral dog was loose in the forest.

It had not been a rabid feral dog.

It was not George who the man had nearly encountered-- George had been in another stretch of wood entirely, and the population of werewolves in Bristol was not insignificant. That hardly mattered, not with the city now uncomfortably on the alert for _something._ It had been _something_ out there in the forest, after all.

_Someone._

The fuss would pass, of course, the attention span of humans being commensurate with their lifespans. Still, the article had provoked a nine-days wonder that might easily lead to increased activity in the woods. It did not make any sense for humans to deliberately court potential danger, but Loki had better sense than to air such an opinion in front of… well, anyone who knew him. It appeared that he was not the only creature capable of letting his curiosity overrule his common sense. 

As long as interest died down before the next full moon no harm would be done, but there was no guarantee this would happen. And this was to say nothing of the very real possibility of young horror-film enthusiasts making a connection between the "rabid feral dog" and the full moon, and deciding to "investigate." It would not be a pleasing irony, for them to play at belief in werewolves only to learn the truth the hard way. None of the housemates wanted any harm to befall humans whose only crime was being silly. 

And they certainly did not want George, or any other careful werewolf, to be put in a position to commit evil, against their will and every inclination. The housemates could not, naturally, protect every werewolf in Bristol, but they needed to find a way to safeguard George. 

At one point, apparently, before Loki joined the household, George had made a habit of transforming inside the hospital at which he and Mitchell worked. There was a storage room in a little-used part of the hospital basement, one with a heavy latch on the outside of the door, such as might be found on a walk-in refrigerator. George would shut himself in before moonrise, and then Mitchell would retrieve him in the morning. It was hardly a perfect solution, but it kept everyone safe. 

It also confirmed that George really was good all the way through, because for his part Loki could not imagine ever agreeing to be locked up like that, in what sounded like a windowless vault, not even only overnight, not even to protect the innocent. Such confinement would be bad enough at any time, let alone when not in one's right mind. George insisted he could not remember anything afterward, but still Loki could not get over a sympathetic feeling of oppressed terror at the idea. 

Fortunately, George had long since changed his practice, and now transformed in the forest. He took every precaution he could think of to avoid tragedy, most of them on the advice of a werewolf whose brief acquaintance he had made before Loki's time. George would go to a reliably-deserted stretch of wood where there was an abandoned storage building. He would leave his clothing there, then take to the woods carrying a raw chicken and a length of cord. 

The chicken had puzzled Loki, the first time he saw George leave the house on his transformation night. However, at the time he had not really had strength enough to be properly curious (which, when he thought about it later, he realized meant he had been in even worse condition after his fall than he thought.) Even after he recovered enough to really wonder about it, Loki had been afraid to offend his rescuers-- particularly since, though it was hard to remember now, George had been quite distrustful of him at first and not very welcoming-- and had refrained from asking any impertinent questions. 

Eventually, of course, George had befriended Loki, and though at the time he still did not really like to talk about his condition, he had explained about the chicken. It was used to lay a track which George, in werewolf form, would follow in a harmless spiral back to the abandoned building. It kept the wolf form occupied, and also ensured that when George regained possession of his body, he would be near his clothing. Loki could only admire the tidy simplicity of the plan. 

That plan had continued to work admirably, but it would not be proof against some foolish human blundering into range of George's heightened senses-- and aggression. George sometimes came home feeling very sick indeed after having devoured some creature he encountered, which was as unlike George as possible. The wolf would simply go for anything that crossed his path, a human as easily as a rabbit or deer. 

The storage room was no longer an option, hospital renovations having recently resulted in more usage of that corner of the basement. And besides: George, Annie and Mitchell all agreed that a George who transformed in the forest was for the rest of the month a much calmer and more peaceful George than one who spent his full moon hurling himself against brick walls in a locked room. The wolf needed his interlude of freedom in order to sleep contented for the rest of the month.

And that was the reason Loki was now sitting in a tree above George's head. Because the wolf form would turn on anything that attracted its attention, Loki had suggested that he accompany George for the next full moon or two, at least until they were reasonably confident he would be alone in the forest once more. 

George had not even let Loki finish explaining his idea before he vetoed it, and also employed the pink spray bottle from the kitchen to emphasize what he thought of such a potentially dangerous-- to Loki-- plan. 

"Are you completely mad?" George had shouted, waving the spray bottle for emphasis as Philip and Elizabeth, the kittens, scuttled for cover under the sofa. "It's bad enough worrying about attacking total _strangers_. How do you suppose I'd feel if I woke up and found out I'd killed _you?_ It's not like you're impervious to injury, you idiot."

Only George would use a word like "impervious" in a condition of such mental unrest, Loki reflected fondly, even as his own temper began to rise. 

"No, George, really, listen to me," Loki argued, then clenched his mouth and eyes shut as he took another blast of water to the face. " _Stop that._ I have no suicidal tendencies-- " _now_ \-- "and even if I did, I would not ask you to be party to them. Really, George, do you honestly believe I think so little of our friendship?"

Which was, of course, exactly what _George_ had just been saying to _Loki_. The two of them glared at each other for a moment, and then George put down the spray bottle and Loki wiped his face. 

"You will permit me to continue?" Loki asked. Mitchell took the spray bottle away, and the kittens emerged from under the sofa to pounce on Loki's feet. George nodded, still looking suspicious, and Loki said, "I do not suggest retaining my own form. My idea is to transform into an owl. That way I can follow you safely from the air, and if I perceive anything or anyone in your vicinity, I can fly down, distract you, and lead you in another direction."

"The wolf is pretty quick," George warned. 

"I have no doubt," said Loki, who had been present for one transformation. Despite having a great many other things on his mind at the time, he still remembered how frightening George had become. "But I would take care to remain out of your reach. And if I am not needed, I can simply remain in the top branches of a tree and keep watch."

George looked undecided and Loki, exercising unwonted self-control, kept quiet and let him think about it. George's transformations were intensely personal, and he valued his privacy at such times. Loki's presence at that single transformation had been the result of extremely unusual circumstances, when the safety of one of their friends had depended on frightening the truth out of someone else. He still regretted being unable to find a different way to get the information they desired, though George had not seemed to resent being used so: in that one case the end truly had justified the means. 

And surely by now George knew his friends' affection for him would not be altered by witnessing the transformation? Particularly considering the way his careful management of his condition had so far resulted in George-the-unthinkingly-savage-beast never committing an act by which George-the-kind-and-thoughtful would be horrified. Loki, for one, was humbled every time he thought of that. 

"You won't do anything risky?" George asked finally. "You promise?"

"I swear," Loki agreed readily.

"You really swear? Really, _really_ swear?" George insisted, looking suspicious. George knew Loki very well. 

"I absolutely promise not to put you in a situation in which you might do me harm," Loki replied. And then, because he owed George as much, he amended, "Unless I see no other way to prevent injury to someone innocent. Please, George, we both know there is an element of danger in this plan, but there is no option available without risk to _someone_ , and unlike the general population, I am _aware_ of the dangers. And I can imagine how badly you wish to avoid hurting me, because it is as much as _I_ want to avoid hurting _you._ I will do everything in my power to avoid any… unfortunate… incidents." 

"You could always turn back into yourself and zap me with a sleeping spell or something," George pointed out. "If you really needed to."

"I would be glad to do so, if that is necessary," Loki agreed readily. A sleeping spell and a concealing glamour would be an effective course indeed. "But if such measures are not needed, I will simply stay out of the way and allow the wolf his freedom. Will you trust me?"

"That's a dirty shot," George grumbled, which meant "yes."

They had taken a bus across the bridge, then walked into the woods to George's secret spot. Loki remained at the building while George laid out his trail. When George returned, Loki disrobed and transformed first, waiting in a nearby tree until George came outside, closed the door behind himself, and set off toward the beginning of his chicken trail. 

And so here they were, under the full moon, Loki gleaming white in the branches of the trees, flying silently after the shape of the wolfman. 

The owl form Loki was using would, of course, draw unwanted attention if he was sighted by a nocturnal birder: Harry Potter notwithstanding, the snowy owl was a rare visitor to Britain. As much as he wished to take on the beautiful form of Hedwig, Loki had actually intended to transform into the much more common, even unremarkable, tawny owl. He had not even suggested the possibility of the snowy owl, but George, who knew him extremely well, had remarked that a white owl would be a much more effective decoy if Loki needed to act, and in fact would enable him to keep a greater distance while still attracting George's attention. This was all the permission Loki needed, and despite the potential seriousness of the situation he took a childish pleasure in this form. 

Loki took care to stay within earshot of George, but he made periodic sorties to ensure there was no one else in the woods, before flying back to check on his friend. The forays were, admittedly, not solely for the purpose of scouting: Loki enjoyed transforming into a bird under any circumstances, and maneuvering about on the silent wings of an owl was most agreeable. Fortunately, owls were by nature more serious-minded than, say, ravens, and so it was a little easier to remain focused in this form than in some others Loki had assumed in the past. 

Even so, when he encountered a small ruin in a clearing, Loki could not resist pausing for a moment to look at it. Having grown up in the Realm Eternal, Loki still found himself amazed at how much Midgard _changed_ \-- even in the scant two years he had lived in this realm, buildings were demolished and others constructed, houses were repainted, businesses changed hands and even purposes. 

Nick Fury, of the Avengers, had once expressed astonishment at the great age of some structures he encountered here in England, but Loki for his part was endlessly interested in what was new, and also what was left to decay. Asgard, in his memory, never changed: its buildings and towers always shining golden in defiance of eternity. Loki was now aware that his memory was often faulty, not to mention unfair, but he still found Midgard much more interesting. 

The questions seemed endless. Why did humans keep and cherish some ancient structures, while others fell to ruin? Even more, why were some ruins permitted to remain while others were cleared away to make room for something new? And if Loki lived on this realm for the rest of his quite-possibly-very-long life, which of the structures he knew would still remain at the time of his death? What would be left of the terrace where he lived now?

So: this little ruin caught his attention. Who had built it, who had cared for it, when and why had they stopped doing so? What was its intended purpose? 

Loki glanced back toward George, who was now fully occupied sniffing the base of a tree. Then he circled over the ruin, allowing himself to descend gently, aiming to land on one of the upright stones that stood in shaky rows beside it. 

He was sinking, on outstretched wings, feathery feet extended, talons open--

\-- when something huge and black, with glowing eyes, emerged from the open doorway of the ruin. With a horrifying snarl, it charged him. 

Loki felt his talons just scrape against the stone, and then he beat his way frantically back into the sky, just ahead of the black shape snapping at his tail feathers. He flew over the remnants of the iron fence surrounding the ruin, and heard a sharp yelp of apparent pain from the creature as it fell back. The part of Loki's mind not thinking _fly away!_ was puzzled, because the fence did not seem high enough to seriously inconvenience the beast. Loki landed, breathless, heart pounding, in the top branches of a tree and perched there, gazing down. Below him, the black creature raged and snarled until he could not be sure it was not another werewolf. 

And yet, not far away in the wood, the snarling, raging George did not seem to notice it at all. 

Loki turned his head (among the many small pleasures of this form was seeing exactly how far the head would turn before his neck began to hurt-- the answer was, so far, a great deal further than his usual neck) to look toward George, still going about his wolfish business. Then he looked back down at the black creature. 

George's senses, at least those attuned to the physical world, were heightened in wolf form, but he did not seem to see or hear this creature. Reason therefore suggested that perhaps George's ability to identify magical beings was somehow impaired in this form, and the black creature was not, in fact... corporeal. 

Loki opened his mouth, attempting to draw scent into what olfactory glands an owl possessed. He did not literally smell magic, but the analogy was so close that he often found himself instinctively sniffing when he searched for evidence of it. Owls have an extremely poor sense of smell, but Loki was still able to sense something, quite apart from the wet-dog scent he would never admit accompanied George's transformation into wolf form. The scent was not as deep and musky as George's wolf-smell, was also without the undertones that made Loki want to fluff his feathers and open his beak in a hiss. 

That was interesting: given the black creature's show of aggression, Loki would have expected more threatening overtones in the sensation of magic. Ordinarily, although it was not infallible, malignant sorcery generally _smelled bad_ to Loki (though he could not detect his own, Loki sometimes wondered what kind of stench had accompanied his own descent into madness and villainy before he arrived in Bristol.) The snarling creature below him smelled… well, rather like the boarhounds of Asgard, not a scent one would necessarily wish to have sleeping in one's bed alongside the cats, but not much worse than Nelson, the friendly Labrador whom Loki encountered with his owner on many of his evening runs.

The other thing that seemed very strange was, as Loki had already noted, the creature was huge, more than large enough to scramble over the derelict fence. And yet, it ranged up and down and made no attempt to do so, as though the fence was ten feet tall and it was a mortal dog.

The whole situation was puzzling, but Loki did not have time to try and work it out right now. Instead, he dropped from his top branch onto silent wings and wheeled back to focus his attention upon George once more. 

~oOo~

It was not until morning that Loki's thoughts returned to the ruin, and the mysterious creature within it. 

George had followed his chicken trail back to the abandoned building, transforming into himself once more as the moon set. Loki followed suit, rather headachey but not anything like as tired as George, who fairly collapsed on the dirt floor next to his clothing and immediately fell deeply asleep. Loki, feeling rather embarrassed at his state of undress even though the only other being present was unconscious, scrambled into his clothing. Then he covered George with both of their jackets, made a mental noted to suggest the addition of some sort of bedroll to the werewolf kit, and settled down on the floor himself to nap for a while. 

He woke to George shaking him, muttering that they should get back. The sun was only just peeking above the horizon as they left their shelter, and as they walked down the trail that led to the road, Loki realized they were passing near the ruin he had noticed the night before. 

It took George, still muzzy-headed, a few moments to understand what Loki was saying to him, and then he was even more confused.

"You saw some sort of vicious beast hanging around a ruined building, and you want to _go back and look for it?"_ George demanded, his voice going high and rather squeaky, as it did in moments of emotional stress. 

"Well, yes," Loki admitted. 

"Remind me again," George began, removing his spectacles and polishing them on the tail of his shirt. Which, since his shirt was far from clean, rendered them badly smudged. Loki took the spectacles out of George's hands and scrubbed at them with a fresh tissue-- after two years working in a school inhabited by small children, Loki now always kept a fresh store of tissues in the left-hand pocket of every jacket and pair of trousers he owned. "Thank you," George muttered as he took the glasses back and put them on. Then he resumed, "Remind me again-- weren't you the one who was afraid some human would let their curiosity get them into a dangerous situation last night?"

"Well, yes," Loki admitted, then added with what he considered unassailable logic, "but I am not human." George glared at him, and Loki coaxed, "We will not go inside the fence. The creature seems unable to pass beyond it, so we shall be quite safe. I merely… I want to see what it is, now that I am myself again and can concentrate."

"It couldn't pass by the fence?" George repeated, looking almost as thoughtful as he did sleepy.

"It appeared not," Loki replied. "Why? Is that of significance?"

"Might be," George said. "What kind of a fence was it?"

"It appeared to be of iron," Loki replied, and then made the connection, from a previous adventure involving British myth and legend. "Oh. I recall your saying that some kinds of Midgardian sorcery may be foiled by iron. Do you think this is such a case?"

"I can't actually think at all at the moment," George admitted. "But it might be."

"In that case," Loki wheedled, "surely it could do no harm to look. Since the creature cannot get at us anyway." 

George narrowed his eyes. "You're not bringing it home," he announced. 

"Did I say I wanted to?" Loki protested, trying to ignore the guilty flush that began to creep up his neck. 

"You didn't have to," George sighed. "Either you want to torment it, or you want to study it, or you want to rescue it. Tormenting it isn't your style and I've never known you to take a strictly academic interest in _anything,_ so you must want to rescue it. No. We have two kittens. We don't need a giant demonic dog. What would we do with it?"

"We could name it Baskerville," Loki said, very softly, because while George was correct that he did not wish to torment the creature, housemate convention rather indicated that he should torment George, at least a little. George uttered a sound that suggested he was sorry the moon was now waning gibbous instead of full. Loki smiled with bright innocence as he sidled out of his friend's reach. Rolling his eyes, George bowed to the inevitable. 

"Just for a minute," he grumbled, and trudged after Loki down the path. 

The feeling of sorcery was strong in the air as they walked up to the little ruin, both alert to retreat in case anything threatened. George was frowning, more in concentration than annoyance by now. Loki, unobtrusively keeping watch on his friend, felt sure that George was sifting through the contents of his extremely retentive brain, and would shortly present Loki with the solution to the mystery. 

"That's a church," George said at length, stopping at a short distance from the edifice. "Or anyway, it was."

"Yes?" Loki prompted. He felt rather guilty for harassing George into thinking at a moment like this, when he only wished to return home to sleep, but curiosity was always stronger in him than charity. 

George took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, realized he had smudged the spectacles in his dirty hands, and wordlessly extended them to Loki, who retrieved another clean tissue and wiped them. 

"A long time ago, there was a tradition of spectral dogs who protected the souls of those buried near churches," George explained. Querulous as he could be, in matters of real importance his patience was endless. "They were called Church Grims. That might be what you saw last night. Maybe it was brought out by your sorcery, or the full moon, or the fact I was so close."

"So this is an enchanted creature like the rhinoceroses who guard the school?" Loki asked, pleased despite the ferocity of the creature to find this point in common between his magic and that of his adopted home. 

"Sort of," George replied. "If you had laid the enchantment by burying a live rhinoceros in the schoolyard." George immediately looked sorry he had not curbed his tongue, and Loki could feel horror creeping across his face. 

"This is the unquiet spirit of a dog who died-- like that?" he demanded. It was stupid to feel so upset, considering all he himself had done in the past… but, well, it _was_ in the past. 

"Probably," George sighed. "No wonder, really, that it's not very friendly."

"No wonder," Loki agreed, clasping his hands before himself and worrying them together. 

"Loki, I mean it. We're not landing home with a giant spectral dog. Annie wouldn't have it," George said as firmly as he could manage. 

"I just… I want to see… " Loki nearly spluttered, his feet carrying him closer to the fence almost of their own volition. 

"Loki, whatever happened to it, it's been fine for centuries, you don't need to-- Oh, damn," George sighed, apparently reflecting that his argument-- a creature left to its own lonely madness for so long was beyond help anyway-- was not perhaps one his current audience would appreciate. 

Loki reached the ruined iron fence, found a gap that would accommodate him, and slipped through despite George's protests. "I only wish to… to check," he called back. "There is no need to worry."

George uttered a wordless growl that really reminded Loki of his father. 

And then the scent of the creature's magic filled the air, and Loki's nostrils, and there was a ripple of sorcery in the open doorway of the ruin as the Grim emerged.

Loki blinked, astonished. 

Behind him, George said, 

"Well, that's unexpected."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** In which we begin to get the various pieces onto the board (including a couple of previously-overlooked characters from **Being Human** ), and I play seriously fast-and-loose with various elements of myth and magic. I beg the indulgence of readers who actually know something about these matters: I try to keep these stories _internally_ consistent, but there is a limit to my devotion to _external_ accuracy. Certain details about Loki's neighbourhood are superficially correct but I make no claims to knowledge of the area.
> 
>  **Warnings:** None.

Loki and George stood perfectly still as the Grim-- the "scent" was less powerful now, but Loki could sense the same magic on the creature: it was definitely the Grim-- emerged from the ruin. 

"Um, Loki?" George asked hesitantly. 

"Yes, George, I am quite sure this is the creature I saw last night," Loki anticipated the question. He paused. "Although definitely not in this form."

"Uh-huh," George murmured, deep thought evident in his tone. He seemed to take for granted that Loki's assertion was correct, and so he offered, "I wonder… perhaps it takes on that other shape when it feels threatened, or feels the church is threatened. Maybe this is its-- "

"-- true form," Loki completed the thought. He frowned. "I did not approve of the spellwork in the first place-- on Asgard, such workings would be considered very dark magic no matter what the intent-- but now that I have actually seen the creature… "

"Yeah," George agreed. "It's an awful thought. Although you have to remember that, in the past, this realm has also gone in for disemboweling and beheading humans in the name of the law. To say nothing of what we used to do to witches."

Loki sighed. He did not like to think about that. He especially did not like to think about all the fantasies he had once had, in which he left Asgard and found a place where he could really belong. Had he actually come, at that time, to this realm he now loved so much, he probably would have gotten himself burned at the stake. "I suppose you are right."

"Mind you," George added, in a tone so elaborately neutral he sounded like Agent Coulson, "by human standards that was all a very long time ago. And we don't do things like that now."

"As my brother once remarked, time flows only forward," Loki agreed, continuing to look at the creature before them. 

The Church Grim stood on the derelict external narthex of the ruin, looking from George to Loki with sparkling, hopeful eyes. The fluffy tail curled over its back began to wag, and when Loki instinctively dropped to a crouch and extended a hand, as the kennel master of Asgard had taught them to do with puppies, the creature came skipping down the overgrown stone path toward him. 

Last night, apparently in a protective fury at the proximity of George in werewolf form, the black dog had been at least as tall as a large calf, its shaggy coat bristling and eyes glowing red. 

Today, it stood no higher than Loki's knee, had flopped-over ears and a delicate little smiling face. Its only point of resemblance to its other self was its shaggy black fur. Even at that, its coat was soft-looking, and the little creature had a white throat and endearing white toes on its front feet, like the kitten Elizabeth. 

"It would not, of course, have been acceptable either for a larger, ugly dog to meet such a fate," Loki said out loud to remind himself. "However-- "

"Yeah," George repeated, right behind him now. "Hello, sweetheart." 

The Grim flattened its-- _her_ \-- ears, lowered her tail and wagged it appeasingly, before scampering in a circle around the two. When Loki cautiously reached toward her she cringed backward a step, but then came closer as soon as he lowered his hand, as though torn between the longing for contact and the fear of what they would do if they caught her. 

Glancing at George, Loki strongly suspected he was not the only one present who wished for a time machine and a sturdy spade. 

The two friends remained in their crouching postures, waiting, while the dog tried to decide she trusted them. There was, of course, little either of them could do to a ghost even if they wanted to, but the dog naturally did not know that. She probably did not know she _was_ a ghost. 

Within a few minutes she gave in to temptation and loneliness and sidled up to Loki, who through an effort of concentration was able to rub her behind the ears. The little dog wriggled and her tail became nearly a blur as she leaned into his fingers. 

_"George,"_ Loki heard himself plead. 

"If we drag the gate open, that should deal with the problem of the iron," George replied, in a distracted voice. Loki glanced up from the clinging dog and realized George was looking at the fence, a calculating expression on his exhausted face. 

"If we-- ?" Loki prompted hopefully. 

"Well, obviously we're not going to leave her here," George said impatiently. "Come on, let's see what we can do."

With a last pat to the dog, Loki straightened up-- carefully, so as not to frighten her more than he could help-- and followed George to the fence.

As Loki had noted the previous night, the fence was in considerable disrepair. It had probably been a crude affair even when it was newly built, and now it was rusted and devoured by undergrowth and grasses. The gate was closed, perhaps the last act of the congregation when they left the church behind, and though the hinges had long since rusted away, it was held upright by the overgrown vegetation tangled around its base and climbing its height. 

"I think," George said, "if we pull that loose, the dog should be able to follow us out. Won't you, sweetheart?" he added, looking down at the little creature standing beside him. She looked up eagerly, wagging her tail again, obviously anxious and hoping not to be left behind. Loki bent down to pet her head again, then turned back to George. 

"Shall we try it?" he said. 

George, for all he looked mild-mannered and bookish, was as a werewolf extremely strong. And Loki, in addition to his magic, was also considerably stronger than he looked. Ordinarily, the gate would have presented little difficulty to either of them, let alone both together. 

However, after his exertions of the night before, George was nearly asleep on his feet, and Loki had used up most of his energy and temporarily sapped his magic with his hours as an owl. The two of them struggled gamely with the gate for quite some time, pulling plant life up by the roots or tearing it free as needed, before they were finally able to make the gate budge. George then slipped back through the gap in the fence through which they had entered the churchyard. 

With both of them lifting, George pushing and Loki pulling, they managed to wrestle the gate open a couple of feet. At that point, the last of the binding vegetation and the single remaining partly-intact hinge gave way. Loki and George carried the gate to one side, propping it against a sturdy part of the fence, and eyed the opening hopefully. 

"If it's only the iron, that should do it," George remarked. 

Loki turned on him a look sharp with alarm. "' _If_ it's only the iron'?" he repeated. 

George pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Well, I _think_ it's the iron, but you have to remember I'm not the authority on sorcery around here." 

Loki grimaced. "I really have been remiss in my studies of the magic of this realm."

George shrugged. "Considering it seems to come looking for you when it needs you, I can't blame you for letting it go at that. Anyway, here goes nothing. Come on, sweetie, come with us," he addressed the dog in the ridiculous cooing tone humans directed toward babies and small animals (and, admittedly, which Loki used with the kittens.) 

George and Loki backed toward the open gateway, making coaxing noises. This was unnecessary, the dog being manifestly willing to accompany them. She scurried eagerly toward them--

\-- and then, as she reached the opening, recoiled back with a sharp whimper, as though she had collided with a physical barrier. 

"Oh, no," Loki moaned, as he went back to comfort her. "No, no." George thrust a dirty hand through his equally dirty hair and cursed softly. The two friends contemplated the situation, George looking as guilty as if he had imprisoned the dog himself. 

"I'm really sorry, Loki, I don't know what else to do," he admitted. 

Loki directed a wobbly smile toward his friend, who was certainly not at fault, and looked back down at the dog. As he did so, he noticed the palms of his hands, and hope began again to bloom in his chest.

"Rust," he said, turning his hands upward for George to see. 

"Pardon?" George asked, frowning. 

"My hands are covered in rust, from the gate. Rust is formed by the decomposition of iron, yes?"

"Yes," George agreed, looking at his own hands. 

"And if rust has been transferred to our hands as we handled the gate, does it not also follow that it must also have transferred to the earth, perhaps in considerable amounts, over the years?"

George looked enlightened. "I get it-- the rust in the soil is acting as another barrier, right?"

"Right," Loki said. "At least, it is a theory. If the rust-bearing earth and vegetation are removed, perhaps she will then be able to leave this place."

"It's worth a try," George agreed. "But Loki, we really do need to get back. Both of us need to get to work, and we've got to clean up first."

"I know," Loki admitted. "I just hate to-- "

"Yeah," George said unhappily. "Me, too." Addressing the dog, he said, "It's all right, Scamp, we're coming back. Don't worry."

"'Scamp'?" Loki asked, as he reluctantly rose to his feet. 

"There was a dog on my street named Scamp, when I was a kid," George explained. "Little black spaniel mix that looked a bit like her. It seems a more appropriate name than 'Baskerville.'"

"Indeed," Loki agreed, sighed, and looked down at the dog, whose crestfallen expression made it very clear she knew she was about to be abandoned again. "We really will come back for you as soon as we can," he reassured her foolishly, wishing he could make her understand. 

"Come on," George said miserably, and led the way back to the path. Scamp followed them as far as the open gate, backed up a step, and barked as they left, at first hopefully, as if she was telling herself they had only forgotten her, and everything would be all right once they were reminded she was there. The barking increased in urgency as they continued to walk away from her. 

As the ruin disappeared around a bend behind them, they could hear the barks turn into disconsolate wails. 

Loki glanced back once. George put an arm around him and kept walking.

~oOo~

The sun was well up by the time they arrived home. Mitchell, who had the same shift as George, had already left for work. Since Mitchell's usual practice was to wait for George, his absence confirmed that they really were late. It might also have indicated confidence in Loki's ability to watch over George: George preferred to go off alone to transform, but Mitchell generally made sure to be at home when George came back. This was ostensibly to return George's Star of David pendant in person, but everyone knew Mitchell really just wanted to see with his own eyes that George had once again returned safely. 

"What happened?" Annie asked, as the two came slumping through the front door. "What's the matter?"

"We'll tell you later," George began, glanced at Loki, and accepted his wordless gesture toward the stairs as an invitation to go bathe first. 

"We encountered a ghostly dog and have been trying to rescue it from thralldom," Loki summarized the situation, as he picked up Philip, the caped kitten, and cuddled him. "We failed."

"But you're going to try again, right?" Annie asked. It occurred to Loki that, even had the dog really been the large demonic being he first encountered, Annie as a ghost herself might still have sympathized with the desire to free it. Although George was certainly correct that she would not have appreciated its appearance in the house.

"Yeah," George replied, from halfway up the stairs. "Loki has some ideas." 

"An idea," Loki admitted. 

"Good," Annie said. "George, there isn't any hot water, the boiler's on the blink again. Sorry." George uttered a savage little noise, and Annie went on, "Mitchell's going to call the rental agency later this morning. Maybe this time they'll send someone who can figure out what's wrong."

"Do you want me to-- ?" Loki offered, wiggling his fingers. 

George sighed. "If you can manage, I'd be really grateful," he admitted. Loki smiled and nodded. He possessed just enough sorcery at the moment to heat about one tub full of water, so as long as he and George each filled the bath about halfway, they should be able to avoid adding the discomfort of a cold bath to the other inconveniences and disappointments of this morning. 

Annie caught his arm as he started toward the stairs. "Tell me about the dog when you get home tonight, all right?"

"All right," Loki promised, fought the impulse to kiss her in his current disheveled state, lost, and planted a quick peck on her hair. "I am sure we can help her." 

"Of course you can," Annie agreed, took Philip from him, and said, "Now go along and see to George. I'll start some tea."

~oOo~

Loki was cleaning small hand prints off the glass front door of the school when he had the sensation of eyes upon him. Well, he frequently had such a feeling, but this time it was not Heimdall. He turned his head and found a group of children watching him. 

"Yes?" he prompted. He was not at all surprised to find his old friends Patrick and Trevor in the group, but for once they were not to the fore. Instead, they hung back, behind a trio of girls from their class, one of whom answered Loki's query. 

"We… we made-- " began Gillian, freckled and rather shy. She faltered and glanced at her friends, bespectacled Tamsin and curly-haired Moira. Tamsin pushed her spectacles up her nose in a gesture that reminded Loki hilariously of George, and stepped forward.

"We've been making friendship bracelets," she explained, as though Loki would understand the meaning of these words. Apparently his expression disabused her of this notion. In a slightly patronizing tone (since beginning to work at the school, Loki had also been disabused of the belief there was anything unusual or inherently sinister about the way Sif used to talk down to him when they were both children-- had he known any other little girls at the time he might have recognized the tone as unremarkable) she explained, "They're bracelets you make for people, to show them you're friends with them."

"Ah," Loki replied, suddenly enlightened. "Are these made by knotting together threads of various colours?" He had noticed more and more of the children, and not a few of the teachers, wearing such bracelets recently. Patrick and Trevor were each wearing one at this very moment, and the girls' wrists were positively covered with them. 

"Yes," Tamsin replied briskly. "And we made some for Mrs. Hart" (this was Loki's supervisor, Carol) "and for you."

"For me?" Loki repeated, startled and rather touched. The girls nodded, all business now, possibly with many more bracelets to deliver before the lunch break was done. Under instruction, Loki extended his hand-- the right, his dominant hand as well as the one he generally used in spell casting-- and each of the girls fastened a knotted-thread bracelet around his wrist. Moira's was in shades of blue, Gillian's in rather muted blue, green, and brown, and Tamsin's quite striking in black, red, and yellow. 

As she knotted the ends around Loki's wrist, Patrick broke his uncharacteristically long silence by bursting out, 

"That's a poison snake! You're trying to kill him!" 

This made very little sense to Loki, who had not made a close study of the venomous serpents of Midgard. He glanced at Trevor, who looked embarrassed, and then at Tamsin, who raised her chin and, in accents that rather made Loki think of Hermione rebuking Ron, replied loftily, and largely in italics, 

"It's _'red touch yellow, kill a fellow'_." She pointed at Loki's wrist. " _'Red touch black'_ is _'venom lack.'_ That's a _king snake,_ not a _coral snake_." To Loki, she added, "It's perfectly harmless."

"I have no doubt," he replied, inspecting the bracelet and confirming there were careful bands of black separating every occurrence of yellow and red. If there was one thing you could trust, it was Midgardian children's knowledge of slithering or scaly creatures. "I know you would not attempt to kill me with a venomous snake." 

"Of course not," Tamsin said, with a disgusted glance at Patrick. "That would be a pretty rotten _friendship bracelet."_

Patrick, for once, seemed to find himself with little to say. Loki was torn between sympathy and amusement, although he tried to keep both emotions off his face: it had occurred to him that Patrick's efforts to tease Tamsin might have a certain… significance... in a small-boy way, and he did not wish to embarrass his young friend. 

At the same time, he also rather appreciated the way Tamsin stood up for herself. Annie's one flaw, as far as Loki could see, was her tendency to undervalue herself: although she could more than stand up for herself in the give-and-take of the house, it was hard to imagine her defending herself under other circumstances. It would be worrisome if Annie's social contacts were more extensive, and had probably been a source of discomfort to her in life. 

"These are beautiful, and I appreciate the sentiment," Loki assured the girls, left hand unconsciously folding affectionately around his right wrist. "It is very kind of you. Thank you." 

"You're welcome," the girls chorused, and all the children scampered away. Loki smiled at the colourful bracelets on his wrist, then went back to his task. 

~oOo~

Later that afternoon, Loki strolled slowly along the street behind the one on which he lived, past the place of worship on the corner. This was a slight deviation from his usual route home, but at this time of day, if he loitered, he would be able to hear from within the call to prayer directed toward the faithful who worshipped there. 

Loki knew very little about the religious practices of humans: he had never made a specific study of them, and Mitchell's general aversion (almost amounting to an allergy) to religious symbols would have rendered such scholarship both tactless and uncomfortable. (Mitchell was unable to explain why, then, he had no trouble handling George's religious pendant, except to theorize that its connection to George was more powerful to him than its connection to any religion.) This was not one of Loki's real areas of interest anyway, but he liked the sound of the voice bearing witness that there is no deity except God, and incidentally affirming the existence of a community all engaging in prayer together, if perhaps at different locations. 

(Loki was not at all persuaded of the existence of a single god or God, which even superficial awareness of local faiths revealed as a common belief, but he considered it good manners to keep such doubts to himself. It was not as if he had any stake in the matter, "God of Mischief" being a nickname rather than an actual title.)

The call was not intended to be audible from the street, and human hearing would be unable to perceive it, but Loki's senses were equal to the task if he concentrated, and he found it pleasant to listen to. 

Also, as far as he could tell, no imprisoned ghost animals haunted this place, although he supposed such a guardian might be quite happy with humans and activity around them. Unlike poor Scamp, left all alone in a crumbled ruin. 

The thought of the little ghost dog made it impossible to appreciate the sound of the call any longer, and Loki picked up his pace, almost jogging to the end of the street, where he turned right and found himself at his own little pink house on the corner. He let himself in, picking up Elizabeth as she attempted to dash past him to engage in dangerous exploration (really, he should ward the house against escapes by the kittens, it was just that at the moment the idea felt uncomfortable.) The car was in its place on the street, so Loki was not surprised to find his housemates already gathered in the lounge. 

Annie smiled at him from her place on the sofa with the second kitten in her lap. "George has just been explaining about the ghost dog. He said you have a plan?"

Mitchell slid over on the sofa to make room for Loki next to Annie. He accordingly sat, still holding Elizabeth, which led to a sneak-attack on her by her brother Philip, and then both kittens dashing hysterically out of the lounge and up the stairs. Watching them go, Mitchell remarked, 

"You know, I'm not at all sure those two are going to be very pleased if we bring home a ghost dog."

"They will learn to love her," Loki said firmly. Annie smiled at him.

"About your plan?" she prompted. 

"Yes, tell us about it," Mitchell urged. "Since George was far too busy today to think of one himself. What with moving patients and mopping floors and making time with pretty nurses-- "

"I beg your pardon?" Loki interrupted, which was surely Mitchell's intent. _"Nurses?"_

"Nurse," Mitchell amended. "Just the one." 

George, his face gone as red as a Jotun's eye, mumbled, "It was just a cup of tea in the snack bar."

"No, no, tell us more," Loki urged. Quite apart from the natural instinct to tease a fellow housemate, this really was what one might call news: the housemates in general had a drastically restricted social circle. Three of them had acquaintances at their places of work, and of course they were on friendly terms with the Avengers. But still-- while Loki's status as an alien sorcerer was no longer a matter of secrecy, for the sake of the rest of the supernatural community, Mitchell and George still concealed their own natures, which necessitated a level of caution around humans that was not really conducive to cultivating close friendships outside the house. George had never sought out ties with the werewolves of the city, and Mitchell had, after the events that culminated in the death of Herrick the vampire captain, recognized the need to cut his with the vampires. 

So much for general socialization. Mitchell's words indicated that George's interest in this nurse was _romantic._ That was even more unheard-of, or less-heard-of, or whatever the correct idiom might be: George had many wonderful qualities, but he was shy and could be rather awkward in general social situations. 

In this, of course, he was hardly alone: having spent his youth on the fringes of a group that did not want him, and treated as literally untouchable besides, Loki's own social development was, to say the least, stunted in certain areas. Indeed, his current shy attachment to Annie was unique in his experience, and he knew quite well that if he had not been fortunate enough to find himself actually sharing a house with her, he would never have had the nerve to approach her.

Mitchell… was a bit of a puzzle, now that Loki thought of it. He was outgoing, friendly, and certainly handsome, and Loki could only assume it was caution about accidental revelations of his nature that stopped him from seeking out the companionship of women. Loki had never given the matter much thought, but it now occurred to him that Mitchell might well experience that as a loss. 

At the moment, he gave no sign of jealousy: Mitchell was generous, and certainly wanted nothing more than for George to be happy. And besides, he was even more inclined toward teasing than Loki. 

_"Nina Pickering,"_ Mitchell almost sang, when George seemed disinclined to say more. The vampire might have been the same age as Patrick, and Loki suddenly revised his earlier impression: perhaps Patrick did not pester Tamsin out of any budding devotion of his own, but to tease Trevor about _his._ This would, he decided, merit further attention, purely for purposes of research. 

Now, however, Loki said only, "Nina-- was there not a nurse by that name present on the occasion when my brother went to visit the patients?" Thor's visit had been a source of considerable pleasure to the patients in the long-term care unit, which was hardly surprising since at the time he had been in the form of an extremely handsome and affectionate ginger cat. Loki recalled arriving to retrieve his "pet" and encountering a tiny, attractive, and yet very formidable young nurse with fluffy blond hair, who had provided him with a borrowed cat carrier and instructed him to take better care of his animal companions in future. 

"That's the one," Mitchell agreed cheerfully. "A _lovely_ young woman, if frankly a little terrifying." 

"That is also how I remember her," Loki agreed, then turned a raised eyebrow on George. "Which must tell us something rather interesting about _you._ "

"I think I liked it better when you didn't remind me quite so much of Mitchell," George remarked, folding his arms and peering at them both over the top of his spectacles. Mitchell slung an arm around Loki's shoulders, put a hand on his head, and pulled their faces close together so they could favour George with identically suspiciously innocent smiles. George sighed, removed his spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It was just a cup of tea. Nothing serious. I don’t think she likes me particularly, to be honest."

"Well, then she is extremely silly," Loki said, sobering and instantly defensive on George's behalf. 

"I'd rather not talk about it right now," George muttered.

Annie tapped Loki on the knee. "Ghost dog, remember?" she said. "You were about to tell us your plan?"

"I do not believe it quite rises to the level of a plan," Loki said apologetically. "I simply intended to return to the ruin with a spade, and dig up the earth and vegetation from the gate." He quickly outlined his theory ("I do not believe it quite rises to the level of a theory, either") that the rusting of the gate had deposited sufficient quantities of iron into the soil to prevent the ghost from crossing it.

"Are you sure that's the problem?" Annie asked, looking reluctant to disagree with Loki but as though she felt compelled to speak. "I mean, _I_ dropped a knife last night doing the washing-up and I didn't have any trouble stepping over it."

"Well, you don't have a curse on you, either," George pointed out. "And anyway, the type of magic in the spell probably makes a difference. Loki doesn't have any trouble with iron, do you, Loki?"

"Not that I have ever noticed," Loki agreed. Feeling a little deflated, since of course Annie might very well be correct, he went on, "It is at least worth trying, and if it does not work, I can try something else."

" _We_ can try something else," Annie corrected, patting him on the knee, and Loki immediately felt much better. 

"Okay," Mitchell spoke up, "I'm pretty sure there's a spade or a shovel in the-- "

"-- what's the difference between a spade and a shovel, anyway?" Annie asked, aside. 

"Dunno," George said. "I'm always afraid I'm going to call a spade a shovel, frankly."

"-- basement," Mitchell went on, pretending not to hear the others. "After tea we'll collect it and go on an expedition." He hesitated, turning to Loki. "How sure are you that it'll be safe to bring the dog home? I mean, if it-- "

"-- _She,_ " Loki and George corrected him together. 

"-- _she_ ," Mitchell amended, "can turn into a giant raging demon, she might not exactly be safe to have around the house. I wonder if we should just free her and turn her loose."

"No," George said, before Loki had to. "She's a _dog._ We can't just _abandon_ her."

"I think it very likely the spell that controls her form causes her to change into the more threatening shape when there is a threat to the church," Loki spoke up. "If we can break her connection to the church, perhaps that spell will be broken as well."

"There's also the chance," George said reluctantly, "that if we break the connection, she'll just move on."

"Her own little dog door will turn up?" Mitchell suggested, and Annie made a face at him.

"Well, if it does, that will be all right too," Loki replied. "I just hate to think of her trapped like this and all alone." 

Mitchell gave him an understanding look, opened his mouth to speak--

\-- and his mobile rang. Mitchell glanced at it, frowned at the display for a second, then said, 

"Oh, right the rental agency. Mitchell," he said into the device. The rental agency was responsible for the house in the absence of its owner, their landlord, who was working out of the country. So far they had not been terribly helpful in the matter of the faulty boiler, but one lived in hope, especially Loki and his housemates who were not terribly gifted in the area of home repairs. 

Mitchell was frowning in concentration as he listened intently. "Thursday, then? Yeah, we can be home that afternoon. He wants to meet us?" More listening. "All right, we'll deal with him direct. Thanks."

Mitchell pressed the button that disconnected the call, put down the mobile, and looked around at the others. 

"What?" George asked. 

Mitchell set the mobile on the coffee table and said, "The agency's not going to be looking after the house any longer. Apparently the owner's come back to England from Saudi, and he reckons he'll take over responsibility again. And he wants to meet us."

"He does?" asked George. "Why?"

"We're the only tenants who've ever stayed longer than a couple of weeks," Mitchell shrugged. "Maybe he wants to make sure we're happy here and planning to stay on."

Loki hardly heard Mitchell or George. He was more preoccupied with Annie, who had gone very still and was now as pale as…

"The owner is coming home?" she repeated, in a dazed little voice. 

Mitchell looked anxious, but he nodded. 

Annie spoke again. _"Owen?"_

"Yes. Owen."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which we finally begin to deal with some elements of **Being Human** canon, the housemates attempt to become dog rescuers, and there are feels of various kinds. In **Thor** , Loki struck me as a vibrating bundle of repressed emotions, which this series assumes is most of the reason he went off the rails so spectacularly. At the time he was primarily concerned with his own feelings, mostly because he didn't think anyone else gave a damn about them. At this point Loki is capable of thinking about other people's feelings. We'll see how that goes for him. 
> 
> Regarding **Being Human** canon: it's not just Loki who has been changed in the course of this series, and I am aware that I've really neglected elements of, say, Mitchell's personality and made everything much fluffier than canon. It's just… I'm fluffy. 
> 
> Also, if you're not familiar with the TV show, don’t worry, all the canon stuff I use will be pretty much spelled out in the story. 
> 
> **Warnings:** For smoking-- I keep forgetting that Mitchell smokes. 
> 
> Also, significant sections of this story are going to be a bit of a downer. Like this one. Sorry about that.

Annie was very quiet as the housemates ate their evening meal, and her mind seemed far away. Loki tried not to let his own anxiety show, but even for a talented liar it proved no easy task. 

Owen was coming back to the house. 

George, Mitchell, and Loki had never met Owen, but they all knew who he was: he and Annie had been engaged to be married, and the pink house was intended as their home. They had just moved in, were still getting settled, when one night Annie, alone in the house, had started down the stairs in the dark, and had fallen. 

This was as much as she could recall about her death, which had been followed by a period of such grief and confusion that she was later unable to remember very much at all. She remembered her family, and Owen's, gathering in the house after what must have been her funeral. She remembered her rising panic when she realized no one could see or hear her. And she remembered watching Owen leave the pink house in the company of his family. He had never returned.

This much all the housemates knew: when Mitchell and George moved in, Annie had been there. They befriended her, and she had told them the outline of her story. But they had jobs, had other places to be, had worries of their own. They did not really have the time or the energy to spare, to listen to all Annie wanted to tell about her life. 

And Annie had no one else: aside from the fact no mortal could see her, in those early days she rarely left the house, and never ventured past the garden. Loki could not recall exactly when her boundaries had changed, but he did remember that, when he arrived, her world had been tightly circumscribed.

Tightly circumscribed, and often very lonely. And perhaps this was why, when the stranger in the peculiar clothes fell from the sky into her dustbins, Annie had taken one look at his lost expression and brought him into her house. Loki's memories of his first days in the house were also slightly blurred, although not in the same way as his memories of the actions he had committed during his madness. It was more like a hazy golden warmth, a comforting voice wrapping itself around him as he began to feel safe. 

He had not been terribly communicative, those first days. After confessing to the worst of his crimes there was little more of interest to tell about himself. Annie, however, had filled his silence with her words, rather in the manner of someone attempting to tame a frightened animal: a soothing flow of chatter intended to calm and reassure. Since, at first, he only listened, she had simply spoken of the things that were in her mind, and he had clutched at the threads of what she said to him. 

The sound of Annie's voice had been a consolation to Loki even before he really began to make an effort to understand what she said. The utterance seemed to benefit her as well. It had been too long since Annie had anyone to talk to, to tell her story to. It was only the ordinary life of an ordinary mortal, but Loki would have done far more to show his gratitude to her. His attention being all he had to offer, he had given her all of it, listening and sometimes, after the first days, asking her questions. 

And so he learned of Annie and Owen, heard of their plans for improvements to their home, of their hopes for a family, of the tiny brilliant dreams of their brief mortal lives. It had been a long time since anyone told Loki a story, at least a story that did not revolve around the greatness of the one he had called brother, and in his weakness he thought it enthralling. 

As he listened he nearly forgot the storyteller was dead, and the dreams with her. At the time his feelings toward Annie were of uncomplicated gratitude, the sort of affection a child feels for a caregiver-- there was not enough of Loki yet recovered for him to feel anything else-- and he had found himself wishing the story would have a happy ending for the young couple, even though he knew… 

Eventually Annie came to the end of her story, it was all told, and it seemed the telling brought comfort to her. Loki gained strength, his mind became clearer, and he began to ask her about the world outside the house, and how they lived, and all the things he needed to learn in order to live in this place without causing trouble to himself or to his new… his new friends. And so the story of Annie, and Owen whom she loved, was no longer spoken of except in passing. And as more time went by it seemed she had accepted that the story was over, and all the old dreams left behind, and she was happy with the new story she had begun. 

Until now. 

Now Owen was returning, was coming back to the house, to his old life and Annie's-- today was Tuesday, and he would be here in two days' time. Loki knew without needing to be told that Annie was remembering all those dreams that were now dead. Remembering, and mourning them, all the hopes and wishes that were taken away from her, and from the one she loved, when her mortal life ended. They had been hers, and they had been taken, and it was only right that she grieve for them, as Owen must be grieving, too. 

And Loki had no idea what he should do, how he should behave while she did so. The dreams were hers, they belonged to her and to Owen, he had no part in them. He wished he knew how to offer her comfort, but he was afraid to say or do the wrong thing, and so hurt her. He did not want do anything to make her believe he thought these things unimportant, or to distract her into thinking about his feelings instead of her own. It was a gift of Annie's, to consider the feelings of others, but it was the sort of gift that could easily turn on its possessor, cause her to think the feelings of others were the only ones that mattered. Loki was selfish, but he was not so selfish as all that. 

And he wished he could take the pain of her mourning away from her, but he knew it could not be done, that to try would be to pretend her pain did not matter, or her losses. The only way to honour what she was feeling was to allow her to feel it.

So Annie was quiet, sitting in the lounge curled in the armchair, looking at nothing. And Loki was quiet as he placed the heat-proof dish containing their meal into the oven to warm. It was Sunday leftovers, chicken and rice with a sauce made from a tin of soup, a messy but tasty dish Loki and Annie had made, from instructions in a book Annie kept in the bookcase by the back door. 

When the food was hot Mitchell came into the kitchen, ostensibly to help. This took the form of transferring prepared salad from a sealed bag to plates, while Loki served out three portions of the chicken dish. 

And then, standing closer to Loki than was strictly necessary, Mitchell said quietly, 

"Don't panic." 

Loki swallowed hard, nodded, and then helped Mitchell carry the plates to the lounge. 

Owing to their differing work schedules the housemates did not, as a rule, eat their meals together. When they did, Mitchell called it a "family meal," as if they were like the families in programs on the television. It did not matter that they ate out of plates held on their laps in the lounge, rather than around a table together. The others sometimes made wistful mention of how things were when they were children, when eating together so was the custom. For his part, Loki could hardly recall ever eating a meal in the presence of his entire family that had not also involved the presence of the entire court of Asgard, but he liked the idea and enjoyed such meals very much.

He did not particularly enjoy this one: though he worked hard to present a normal appearance, Loki had trouble swallowing anything. George and Mitchell were obviously anxious, and though Annie's form remained in the lounge, her mind was clearly very far away. 

It was more than a relief when they finally stacked their plates in the sink to be dealt with later, and turned their attention back to the ghostly dog. Annie's mind came back from wherever-- _whenever_ \-- it had gone, and her expression was bright and alert as she looked at the others. 

"Loki, do you think you can use magic to clean up the rust?" she asked.

"I might, but it would probably be better to do it by hand," Loki admitted. "Just in case my sorcery interferes with the enchantments on the dog." 

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Mitchell sighed.

"There's a spade in the basement, isn’t there?" George asked. 

"Yes," Annie replied. "In the back corner, behind the box with Loki's clothes from Asgard." 

Loki smiled at Annie-- at least in part in appreciation of the effort she was making to rejoin them-- and said,

"It might also be wise to bring with us something to make... a sort of bridge, in case simply digging up the contaminated soil is not enough. Even a piece of carpet might do."

"There's a drop cloth or something down there too, I think," Mitchell said. 

"Yes," Annie agreed, and suddenly the distant look was back in her eyes. "Owen and I-- we were going to paint-- "

Loki bit his lips and abruptly stood. "I will go look for it, shall I?"

"I'll come with you," Annie said, threaded her hand through his arm, and followed him down the basement stairs. She did not speak, but her touch was a relief. 

The spade and cloth-- a heavy canvas affair-- were exactly where Annie said they would be, and it was the work of only a few moments to carry them back upstairs and outside. Once these items were stowed in the boot of the car, Mitchell got behind the wheel with George beside him, and Loki and Annie took their places in the back seat. 

Mitchell put the key in the ignition, and then turned to look at Loki with a playful little smile. 

"You know… considering what we've got in the boot… if this was a film about gangsters, the guy in the back seat would be feeling pretty nervous right about now."

"Thank you, Mitchell, that is a lovely thought," Loki replied with asperity. Annie giggled and smacked Mitchell playfully on the back of the head. Loki reached over the seat to pat his friend in mock consolation, but he hoped Mitchell could also feel his gratitude. 

Really, though, as they parked the car and trudged into the woods, Loki (carrying the spade) found himself thinking about the scenario to which Mitchell had referred. It was a decidedly uncomfortable thought even in this company, and Loki could only be grateful that in his insecure-- and frankly rather neurotic-- youth, he had never been exposed to such films. The falling twilight did nothing to lighten the mood. 

Taken all around, it was a relief to find themselves back at the ruin, especially when Loki, walking in front, stepped through the open gateway and Scamp came bounding out of the church to greet him. 

It was unclear whether she actually remembered him after only one encounter, or if she was simply thrilled at the prospect of any company at all, but she frolicked around his legs, jumping up and wagging her tail and barking in excitement. When Annie and George also entered the churchyard her happiness was uncontrollable, finally taking the form of falling over on her back with her belly exposed as if to be patted. Loki was familiar with this gambit in cats, but it transpired that dogs did not use the gesture as a trap for the unwary. He, George, and Annie knelt in a circle around Scamp and petted her until she was practically comatose with joy, and it was only then that Loki realized there was a pair of hands missing: Mitchell had not joined them. 

"Are you all right?" George asked, noticing the same thing at the same time. 

"What is wrong?" Loki added. 

Mitchell, standing just outside the gate, shrugged ruefully. "Apparently, the churchyard is still hallowed ground. I assumed it must have been deconsecrated when the church was abandoned, but it seems not." He gestured toward the gravestones gathered near the wall of the ruin. "It must be because of the graveyard." 

"So you cannot enter?" Loki asked. 

"No," Mitchell replied. "Might lead to all sorts of unpleasantness, actually. Boils, flesh sloughing off, bursting into flame-- best not to try it."

"Are you in pain right now?" Loki demanded. 

"Not at the moment, no," Mitchell replied. He took a tiny step forward. "When I do this, I can feel something like a forcefield pushing me backward, the way I would if I tried to enter a place I hadn't been invited. If I was to try to go any further, things would go downhill in a hurry." 

"So maybe you should take a nice giant step backward, then," George suggested, on a rather high note. "You can keep watch for anyone out for a stroll who might show up and see what we're up to. Just whistle and Loki'll glamour us, right, Loki?" 

"Right," Loki agreed.

"Good idea," Mitchell said, edging backwards. 

As Mitchell walked a short distance down the trail, George stood and picked up the spade. 

"We'll take turns, shall we?" he suggested. 

"Considering we have but one spade, that seems the best plan," Loki agreed. "Unless I was to transform myself into a badger." 

"We can avert our eyes when you want to change back," Annie told him cheerfully. One of the drawbacks of shapeshifting was that, while Loki could change his own form quite readily, he was unable to make his clothing shift with him. He therefore took pains to plan ahead, so as to effect his transformations back into his customary form in private. 

"I appreciate the offer, but perhaps I will simply wait my turn," he replied with a smile, and a growing feeling of relief that Annie was once again behaving like Annie. 

Annie was also willing to take her turn with the spade, but in case some dog walker happened to evade Mitchell, or come from the other direction, they decided not to risk it. Explaining why they were digging up the old church gate would be difficult enough. Inventing an excuse for a spade digging apparently of its own volition was more than Loki wanted to contemplate, and he preferred not to use memory charms on the general public if there was any way to avoid it. 

She was not left without a part to play, however: it turned out that a ghostly lap was the perfect place for a ghostly dog to curl up, and that was exactly what Scamp did. Annie, who did not feel the cold, sat on the ground scratching the blissful little dog behind her ears, while George and Loki used the spade in turns. 

Even with both of them more or less recovered from the previous night's exertions, the task was not an easy one. Loki risked enough magic to assess the concentration of rust in the plant life and soil where the gate had rested, and found it to be quite high, reaching deep into the ground. The grasses, weeds, and brush all had sturdy roots that resisted the sharp edge of the spade, and the progress of their digging was slow. Loki was grateful not to have to do the whole job himself. 

The second time Loki gave the spade to George and sat down beside Annie, she cast him a sideways glance and murmured, 

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Heart pounding in his ears, Loki swallowed hard and instinctively lied. "What about earlier?" Annie cast a glance of disappointment at him. The evening had already turned uncomfortably cool, but the look sent such a chill through Loki that he immediately backtracked: "You were quiet, it is true, but… there is no need for you to apologize. You did nothing to harm me."

Annie sighed. "Well, I might as well have disappeared, for all the attention I paid to you or anyone else. I just… " She paused, looking down at the dog in her lap. After a moment she went on quietly, "I don't think about Owen very much anymore. There's no point to it. I'm dead, and he's alive, and… There's no point to it. But I do still love him, and I don't know how I'll feel when I know he's in the house. I just… I keep thinking about how I wanted my life to turn out." She gave a sudden, watery little giggle. " _Longer._ That's how I wanted it to turn out. And… I see prams go by and I think about… And I don't know how I'll feel when I see Owen again, and know he can't see me, and I have to… _face_ it. D'you understand?"

"I believe I do," Loki said. He started to reach out to touch her, thought better of it and patted the dog's head instead. Annie did not seem to notice. 

"You _are_ understanding," she murmured. _In a moment,_ Loki thought, in utter wretchedness, _she will declare that I am her best friend and she can tell me anything._ Loki had seen enough romantic films by now to be quite aware that if that happened, the situation was utterly beyond hope. 

Before Annie could say anything of the sort, however, George called out. 

"I think we're done. Can you come see whether you sense anything?"

"Certainly," Loki called back, smiled awkwardly at Annie, and scrambled to his feet. Annie tipped Scamp gently off her lap and both of them followed. George waved to Mitchell, who waved back and came jogging over to see what would happen.

The digging had left a wide earthen scar in the gateway, soil and vegetation heaped up on both sides. It looked rather like they had been digging a grave, Loki thought with a shiver. But when he cast his powers out, he could not feel anything that resonated like rust in the dug-out space. 

"I believe that is as much as we can do," he said, allowing a little bubble of hope to rise in his chest. 

"Great," George said. "Mitchell, toss us the drop cloth, will you? We might as well do this right."

When the stretch of canvas was laid out, George took a deep breath and walked through the open gateway. Scamp watched him, ears flattened uncertainly and tail barely stirring. Then Loki and Annie followed George. Scamp lowered her head, as though apprehensive, and started forward. 

And backed up a few paces before the gate, whining anxiously. 

"Come on, girl," George called to her. "Come on, try it."

Scamp glanced at him and wagged her tail again, as though to indicate she was trying, truly. But, as with Mitchell, there seemed to be an invisible force preventing her from passing through the gate.

"Damn it," George murmured, looking stricken. 

Loki, as miserable as he felt at the failure, was almost grateful to have an excuse to look miserable. 

~oOo~

Annie's silence was not too noticeable on the ride home, since everyone else was just as quiet. Mitchell uttered a few hopeful words, which were generally ignored, and then they all remained alone with their thoughts until they arrived at the house.

Scamp had not even barked after them this time: she just stood inside the gate watching them with pleading eyes as they walked away and left her. That had almost been worse. 

By the time they got home, Loki was quite sure that if he stayed in the house, he was going to blunder into saying something that would seriously distress Annie. He had no idea what that would be: he certainly had no intention of doing so. But he reliably lost control of his gift of words when it was a matter of any personal import, and the risk was too much to take. He changed into his running clothes and went out without a word to anyone. 

Normally, Loki's runs were a way of traversing different parts of his city, allowing him to monitor the ebb and flow of magical activity so that he could tell whether anything unusual or threatening seemed to be lurking. On this night, Saruman and Gandalf could have engaged in a full-fledged sorcerer's duel without drawing Loki's notice. He would have run right past a dragon curled on someone's doorstep. As he ran, all his attention was drawn inwards, imagining what Annie was feeling, wondering what he could do to help, and sickeningly aware the whole time that the answer was: _Nothing._ He had no part in this. He was outside it. There was nothing he could do except wait and see what happened, and to offer what comfort she would let him.

He actually got lost in a neighbourhood that should have been familiar, had to stop, bent over with his hands on his knees, to catch his breath and regain his bearings. And then he made his long and weary way back through the streets, up the hill, to the little pink house that was meant to be someone else's home. 

As he came within sight of the front door, there was a tiny flare as though a coal had ignited. Drawing closer, Loki realized it was the ember of Mitchell's cigarette, and Mitchell was sitting on the front steps, waiting for him. 

"Feeling any better?" Mitchell asked, without preamble, as he hitched over to make room.

"No," Loki replied, and sat down beside him. Mitchell exhaled a trail of smoke, and Loki remarked, "I am told that is a very unhealthy habit that will take years off your life."

Mitchell smiled at him through the smoke, and then asked bluntly, "You're not jealous, are you? Of Owen?"

"No," Loki replied, instantly and with a surprising degree of truth. 

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "No?" 

"No," Loki insisted. "It would make as much sense for me to be jealous of Colin Firth." He sighed. "Although who could be jealous of Colin Firth, who is indeed perfect." 

Mitchell at least humoured him far enough to ask, "Tell me, Loki, exactly how many times has Annie forced you to watch _Pride and Prejudice_ with her?"

"Only the first three," Loki replied. "After that I was quite willing." Mitchell grinned, but continued to look at Loki in a penetrating fashion. Loki gave in. "I am not jealous of Owen," he insisted. "Jealousy and I are old companions-- if I felt jealousy, I would know about it. Now, if Annie were alive, or he were dead, that would be different. As things stand… no."

Mitchell nodded, dragging thoughtfully on his cigarette. "Okay, so you're not jealous. What is it?"

"I feel the need to point out, I am not the one currently experiencing a problem," Loki reminded his friend, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his knees. 

"I know that," Mitchell replied. "But… it might be easier for Annie, while she works it out, if the rest of us have our heads on straight, is all. So: what is it?"

Loki dragged his hands back through his hair, closed his eyes for a moment, and then mumbled, 

"It is only… I wish there was something I could do to help." Mitchell was looking at him, and there was no longer any rebuke in his expression. Loki continued, "She loves him still, and she should have… it is simply not _fair_ that she not…" He sounded like a child: many things were not fair. Loki himself had been the author of quite a number of them. He pressed his fingertips against his temples and tried to produce words that made sense: "She should still be living in this house, with him. Happy, and alive, and planning their future. Not… not a spectre, with only…" There was no way to finish that sentence without insulting Mitchell and George. 

Mitchell was not insulted, and he was not thinking about himself and George. "You know she loves you."

"I know. But I am… what she can have. Not what she wanted."

"What do _you_ want?"

Loki cast a sideways glance at his friend. "That is hardly relevant."

"No, but I'm asking. What do you want, right now?"

"I want… " Loki hugged his knees again. "I want… to want what would make her happy. If I could change things, make it so she did not die, if I had the power to give her the things she dreamed of… I want to _want_ , without reservation, to do that for her. But -- "

"You're selfish," Mitchell said. Loki nodded wordlessly. Mitchell sighed. "Welcome to the club. But you don't actually _have_ the power to do those things, do you?" 

"No. But I still should… I should not be glad she is here, with me, when she should be-- "

Mitchell dropped the burning end of his cigarette and carefully ground it out with his toe. "Did I ever tell you about the patient who had the lung transplant?" Loki shook his head. "A couple of years ago, longer maybe, before you came here, I was taking a patient, in a wheelchair, back to his room after some kind of procedure. He was recovering from a double lung transplant." Mitchell shook his head. "I think about him sometimes when I'm lighting up a smoke. Anyway, he was doing very well, making a strong recovery, every cause for optimism. But he was… he felt guilty, because he was so grateful to get those lungs, to get another chance."

"Why did he feel guilty?" Loki asked. 

"Because he felt like, when he and his family were praying for him to be able to have the transplant, he thought that meant they were praying for someone else to die. And it bothered him."

"As it would," Loki agreed. Now that Mitchell spelled it out for him, Loki could see why the man would feel so.

"But the thing is, he _wasn't_. Not really. He just didn't want to die. He didn't kill anyone and take his lungs. He didn't hurt anybody. He just… got to live."

"I fear I do not quite see the point of this story," Loki admitted. 

"You seem to be thinking, just because you're glad she's here with us-- with you-- that you've somehow taken something from Annie. And you haven't. You had nothing to do with what she lost. You gave something back to her-- all right, you think it's less than what she would have had, or what she gave you, but still. You didn't take Owen away from her, or the kids she wanted, or anything else. And there's no way you could give them back to her even if you wanted to, so there isn't any sense beating yourself up over whether you want to or not. That's just an awful hypothetical question that doesn't do anything but hurt you, and make it harder for you to help Annie. Stop it. Really." 

Loki studied the ground between his feet. Mitchell's words made sense, but they were also what Loki wanted to hear, and that made him wary to accept them. After a moment he said, 

"I used to imagine what it would be like, to love someone and be loved back. I am afraid I did not quite get around to imagining the parts that were hard and complicated."

"I don't think anybody does," Mitchell admitted. "And the complications never turn out to be the ones you'd expect, anyway."

"This situation seems unique, however."

"Yes, but you'd be surprised how many unique situations have a lot in common. For instance, George broke up with his fiancée after he realized he was a werewolf."

Loki looked at Mitchell in surprise. "I did not know George had ever been-- "

Mitchell shrugged. "He doesn’t talk about it. It's one of the things his… condition… has taken from him. And I have to say, I'll be a little surprised if he's willing to take a chance with Nina, what with the danger of discovery and the danger to her. Half that 'Nina doesn't even really like me' talk is George's way of keeping a distance between them, and it's as much to protect her as him." Mitchell rubbed his forehead. "It would be safer to keep ourselves isolated, but that's a hard way to live."

"What about you?" Loki heard himself ask. Mitchell looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Loki floundered on, "Do you never wish-- "

"All the time," Mitchell admitted. "But my problem is a little different from George's. Or yours. You know what they call my addiction? Bloodlust. And the problem is, I keep letting it get mixed up with the other kind of lust. I've told you before, I haven't been on the wagon all that long, relatively speaking, and I haven't stayed clean the whole time, either. So-- the last woman I went out with… I knew her from work. Lauren. She was a friend, sort of. And, well, we ended up at her place. And-- " Mitchell broke off.

"And what?" Loki finally prompted. 

"And I attacked her. Drank her blood. And then I tried to… to take it back, and turned her into a vampire. And _then_ I panicked and left her to Herrick and his crew to look after. She's still out there somewhere, and every time I hear about a disappearance anywhere in the country, I wonder if a vampire is behind it, and I wonder if it's her." Mitchell scruffed a hand back through his hair. "It's better if I don't… if I stay uninvolved, shall we say. And busy-- one of the best things about us getting mixed up with the Avengers is, it keeps me occupied. Nothing like a threat to the continued existence of the Earth to take your mind off wanting to bite people." Mitchell fell silent, and Loki knew he should say something, but could not think what. He _knew_ what Mitchell was, and what he had been, but he did not usually _think_ about it. 

After a moment, Mitchell started to rise. Loki caught him by the wrist and pulled him back down. He could not think of anything to say, but he held onto Mitchell's hand.

After a moment, Mitchell said, "Most of the time you're not even the worst monster in this house, let alone the world. And however she decides she feels about Owen, Annie is going to need you to be there for her. More important, she's going to _want_ you to be there. All right?"

"All right," Loki agreed. He released Mitchell's hand, and the two went into the house together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** In which Loki considers theology, of a sort, and begins to formulate plans of action. Meanwhile, Annie continues to be conflicted, and pets have certain things in common regardless of their vital status. This chapter was supposed to encompass the events of the next one as well, but it turned out longer than I expected. Which I guess should not have been a surprise, since it's me…
> 
> Also: I tried to post a picture of Scamp on a previous chapter and couldn't make it work. Try this, please: 
> 
> http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/coneycat_fic/23589795/3452/3452_600.jpg
> 
>  **Warnings:** Loki's musings on Midgardian religious practices are probably a little blasphemous, but made in sincere innocence. Also, angst. Have I mentioned that before? I'm pretty sure it won't last forever.

Ordinarily, Loki did not remember his dreams. Indeed, most nights he thought he did not dream at all. George had once told him that was unlikely, since "everyone" dreams, whether they recall them or not. Loki had retorted that the "everyone" of whom George spoke actually encompassed "current and former humans," which of course Loki was not. (What Loki actually _was_ , of course, was a matter of some ongoing confusion to him, but that was irrelevant in the present context.)

Regardless, Tuesday night was an exception to his general rule. Loki woke in the middle of the night, having kicked off all his covers and nearly fallen out of bed. He scrabbled for the bedside table and switched on his reading lamp. The striped bedspread and heavy quilt were hanging off the side of the bed, one of his pillows had already landed on the floor. The kittens, Philip and Elizabeth, who ordinarily slept with him, were sitting on the mat beside the bed looking very offended. Loki could hardly blame them: it could not have been enjoyable, to be awakened by what amounted to an earthquake, and perhaps propelled to the floor besides. 

"I do apologize," he whispered, reaching down to rearrange his covers and retrieve his pillow. This he propped behind his back with its fellow, so that he could sit up against the headboard. Then he took a deep breath and composed himself. Elizabeth promptly levitated onto the bed, followed by her brother, and the two kittens marched up the covers to their accustomed spot in the centre of Loki's chest. 

"This may eventually become a problem, when you are both grown-up cats," Loki informed his two little friends. "Unless you are willing to take turns." Philip cast a look of innocence upon him, while Elizabeth settled down with her chin resting on her brother's hip. "Well, you can discuss that when the time comes," Loki concluded, edged further down under the covers, trying not to disturb the kittens, and considered the amount of space left on the bed. There was sufficient room for a small ghostly dog, if she was willing to curl up down by his feet. 

The shreds of his dream still clung uncomfortably. Loki remembered being either very small or else in a very deep hole, looking up and trying to shield his face as someone-- he could not see who-- shoveled dirt down upon him. In the dream he had been on the edge of panic, although now he was awake Loki could see that was hardly a practical method of burying someone alive. He could easily have climbed on the dirt as it piled up, until it reached the lip of the hole, and so escaped. If one was serious about the task, one would tie the victim up, or perhaps place him in a box with a sturdy lid--

"And that," he said, aloud, "is more than enough of that." He needed to distract himself, having no desire to fall back into the same unpleasant dream-- or worse, a better-organized version in which he really would end up buried alive.

Although surely Annie would send someone to rescue him. Because of course Annie had been in the dream as well, peeking down over the side of the hole and looking concerned. 

But then she had walked away, hand in hand with Owen. 

The thing was, Loki had no idea what Owen looked like. 

And so, in the dream, Owen looked exactly like Colin Firth. 

As he recalled that detail, Loki's sense of humour suddenly came to his rescue. The next thing he knew, he was clutching a double handful of the bedcovers to his mouth, muffling snorts of more-than-slightly hysterical laughter. Philip and Elizabeth clung to the bedclothes and gazed at him indignantly-- it really was amazing, how much indignation a kitten could inject into its expression-- and that only made him laugh harder. He laughed so hard his eyes began to water, but as he scrubbed at them with the sheet he became aware he was crying nearly as hard as he was laughing. 

It took rather a long time for Loki to compose himself, and he took pains to make as little noise as possible while he did. He had no wish to disturb George or Mitchell, and of course Annie would be awake, because as far as he could tell, Annie never slept. Loki's door was open because of the kittens, and he did not wish for her to hear him and come to investigate. 

If, of course, she felt inclined to do so. 

That line of thought could only be unproductive, if not frankly painful. Suppressing one final hitching breath that might have been a giggle as easily as a sob, Loki stretched himself and gazed at the ceiling. He felt surprisingly relaxed, his outburst seeming to have relieved him of a great deal of the tension left over from the nightmare itself and the nightmarish quality of the last few hours. It occurred to him this was a good thing, that he had the outburst at a manageable level when it could be helpful to him, rather than letting it fester and be compounded for centuries, until the only way to release it was with another destructive explosion.

Really, he told himself, this had to be a cause for optimism. If he kept up his progress he might end in not bringing Ragnarok after all, no matter what the human mythology accused him of. 

Possibly not a joking matter, that.

Relatively peaceful though he now felt, he was also wide-awake. Sliding his hands out from under the covers, carefully so as not to disturb the agitated kittens any more than necessary, Loki clasped his hands behind his head and gave himself over to thought. The problem of Owen he firmly set aside: it was not his to solve-- and, indeed, not necessarily a problem at all, objectively speaking. That would be for Annie to decide. 

Scamp, however, was undoubtedly his responsibility, and so he turned his attention toward her. He was frustrated but not yet discouraged, still fairly confident he could solve the problem and rescue her from her exile. The disappointing results of their first two attempts had made it clear that iron was not the problem. Loki tried to imagine what else could be binding her to the ruin. 

The more he thought about it, the more Loki realized how little he actually knew about Midgardian sorcery. This, he thought in annoyance, was an unpardonable oversight on his part. Up until now it had not mattered overmuch, since he could work his own magic on this realm without difficulty. He had indeed found himself in conflict with Midgardian sorcerers on a couple of occasions, but on one he had been able to persuade the other enchanter to rescind her spell, while on the other the realm itself had come to his assistance.

In this case, the enchanter who cast the spell on Scamp was almost certainly long dead and gone to dust. And there was no reason to believe England would be concerned enough about the fate of one little dog to take action. It was, therefore, up to Loki to find a way around this spell. 

George had described the enchantment as one intended to protect souls in the graveyard. The more Loki thought about that, the more it puzzled him. He did not pay inordinate attention to the religious practices of this realm, but one could not avoid picking up impressions and bits of information if one but paid only _ordinary_ attention. And some of what he had learned left him confused about the nature of this spell.

To begin with, Loki assumed the little church had been raised in honour of the god whose worship on this realm was so widespread that it had requirement of no other name. He would have to confirm this assumption with George. If he was correct in that, his impression was that those who worshiped this god, or God, believed it quite literally capable of anything. Believed it to be omnipotent, in fact, in addition to omniscient and omnipresent. 

And if a god was all-powerful, and all-knowing, and all-present to boot… what possible requirement could it have of a demon dog to guard the souls of its departed faithful? Indeed, now he thought of it-- did not the word _departed_ indicate the faithful had _moved on?_ Annie, in addition to his other friends, had made it clear that was the norm for humans, which was why ghosts were relatively scarce: a door appeared for you, and on you went. 

And where did you go? Loki had heard references, whether in earnest or more figuratively, to a place called _Heaven_ which was, as far as he could tell, a rather less noisy (and probably cleaner) version of Valhalla. So why would the worshipers who constructed this church, and who presumably believed in such a place, have assumed their dead comrades were left hanging around the graveyard in need of a guardian? And from _what?_

Loki frowned at the ceiling. No answers appeared there. He unclasped his hands and extended his right toward the bedside lamp, adjusted the shade slightly so that a glow was cast upward, and then manipulated his fingers into the position Annie had showed him months before. The crude form of a rabbit appeared on his ceiling, although owing to the friendship bracelets around his wrist, it appeared to be wearing an anthropomorphic scarf. 

Loki smiled to himself, remembered the circumstances with a wince, and put the shade back as it was. _Concentrate._

The god called God was not native to Britain. Loki had learned that in his first few months on the realm, during the festival of _Christmas,_ when he had asked about the significance of the brightly-decorated trees that suddenly began to be visible in the windows of certain neighbours. George, whose religious upbringing had been in a related but somewhat older tradition, had tried to explain about borrowed customs from the earliest religion of the realm. That was where Loki had first learned the word "pagan," which he later came to understand was also applied to other gods-- including, if you believed everything you read in books, himself-- most of them from traditions much older in Britain than belief in this one god. 

So: perhaps the business of the dog-guardian was borrowed or retained from these older beliefs. That would make the magic very old indeed, and perhaps tied up in superstition and fear. Not at all the same kind of magic as Loki's own, and not the same as the elemental magic of the place. 

(Loki remembered the feeling, the protective rage of the magic as it rose from the heart of London, using him as a conduit when it drove away the alien invaders. There had been no _fear_ in it.)

Loki shifted his position, which caused his feet to move under the covers. Apparently abandoning any plans to get to sleep tonight, Elizabeth and Philip pounced on them. (Even if Loki had not hated to be cold, he would still deem it wise to keep heavy covers on his bed.) As he watched his ferocious little friends wrestle the monsters under the bedclothes (and wiggled his feet to make the battle more exciting), Loki continued to turn the problem of Scamp over in his mind. 

If she was not hemmed in by iron, perhaps she was bound by-- or to-- something within the grounds. Or perhaps this business of "consecration" had something to do with it: what locked Mitchell _out_ of the churchyard might well lock Scamp _within_ it.

Research was clearly called for. It was possible there might be a useful book in the excellent, though under-used, library of Asgard. Loki had not paid a visit there in some time-- actually, not since he had been granted, or more accurately given back, the right to return any time he wished. Well, perhaps it was time to do so. Among other things, as he moved his foot again to make Elizabeth clutch it in her front paws and bite at his toes through the quilt, he suddenly found himself wanting rather badly to see his mother. 

"It is decided, then. Tomorrow, after work," Loki whispered, then unclasped his hands from behind his head and reached out with his left to wiggle his fingers. The kittens abandoned his feet and charged the movement. As they came scampering up the bedspread, Loki hastily switched off the lamp and pulled the covers over his head. Tiny paws scrabbled at the edge of the quilt for a few moments, and then two little purring someones burrowed under the quilt with him, curled up into his neck, and went quiet. 

He did not dream again about being buried alive. 

~oOo~

Although he slept quite well for the remainder of the night, by Wednesday afternoon Loki found himself sleepy. This caused his mind to wander, and that, perhaps, was the reason that, as he tidied the library, he found himself looking at the books he was stacking on the reshelving cart rather than simply going efficiently about his work. 

One of the books was a heavily illustrated guide to looking after a variety of pets. Loki could not resist the temptation to page through it for advice on the proper care of kittens. It was not that he was worried about his treatment of Elizabeth and Philip, exactly, just that… well, the more knowledge one had, the better. 

As he turned the pages, however, Loki's hands suddenly went still, and he stared at a picture of a happy-looking dog in a basket, gazing up at a little boy and girl who were carrying dishes of food and water toward her. 

"And why," Loki said out loud, causing the librarian to look at him in apparent concern, "did I not think of this earlier?"

~oOo~

"Loki, is that you?" Annie called from the kitchen. 

"It is," Loki called back, fending off the kittens and setting down his shopping so that he could remove his jacket and hang it on the hook by the door. 

Annie emerged from the other room, tilting her head on one side in curiosity. "You're home early today."

"Not very," Loki demurred. He was actually a little later than usual, but Annie was still quite distracted-- she had hardly wished him a good day when he left for work this morning-- so presumably she was unaware of the time. Reminding himself that he must for once be patient, Loki smiled at her and asked, "Do you know whether we have any old blankets?"

Annie frowned, but her attention was definitely captured. "I think so. No, I know so-- there's an old wool one at the bottom of the linen cupboard. I used it to wrap the mirror from my chest of drawers when we were moving in."

Of course she had. There was no need to ask who "we" were. Apparently, this week Loki was utterly incapable of doing anything that did not remind Annie of her life with Owen. He could feel the smile going stiff on his lips, but Annie was looking curiously at his shopping bags and did not notice. 

"What have you got there? Why do you need the blanket?"

Loki pushed the larger bag forward, and Annie crouched to peek inside. She looked up in confusion. 

"Is this for Philip and Elizabeth?" she asked, glancing down at the woven-plastic pet basket in the bag. "Because I can't imagine they're going to want to stop sleeping in your bed." 

Loki shook his head as he sat down on the floor. "No, it is for Scamp." 

Annie looked startled. _"Scamp?"_

"Yes," Loki replied, and smiled at her expression. He definitely had her attention now. "I found a book at school, which discussed the needs of pet dogs and gave advice on how to care for them."

" _Live_ pet dogs," Annie pointed out, the corners of her mouth quirking slightly.

"Well, yes," Loki admitted. "But there is no reason to believe she is _aware_ that she is not alive. And so, since I still do not know how we will rescue her, I thought perhaps the next best thing to do, while I try to think of something, is to provide her with such comforts as a dog might appreciate. Just so she understands-- as well as a dog can, at any rate-- that she is no longer abandoned." 

Annie looked up with a peculiar expression on her face. Loki was not sure what it meant, but for a moment he really thought she might be about to cry. 

Then she scrambled to her feet. "I'll go find you that blanket."

"Thank you," Loki called after her, uncertainly. 

Annie came downstairs after a moment, carrying a battered-looking grey wool blanket, handed it to Loki and then took a step backward. She suddenly seemed to be leagues away from him, almost out of his sight. Loki could not understand how it had happened or what he had done, when they had seemed to be talking normally only a moment ago. 

"You know, there are boxes in the basement," Annie remarked. "You didn't have to buy her a basket."

Loki was by now incapable of determining whether her words were a rebuke or merely a statement. Lowering his eyes to his hands, he explained quietly, 

"The boxes are made of cardboard, and if they were to become wet, they would be ruined. This basket should stand up well to the weather."

"I don't think she's able to feel the wet anyway," was the gentle reply from Annie, who after all would know. 

Loki nodded. "But… but she would know if her bed was all turned to mush. If she has a nice sturdy basket with a blanket in it, she will… she will _think_ she is warm and cozy." Loki was beginning to feel extremely foolish, and he could not recall ever feeling so in Annie's presence before. And he was still unable to interpret the expression on her face. He stuffed the blanket into the bag with the basket in it, put his jacket back on, and picked up both bags. 

And then he tried again: 

"I… after I deliver these things to Scamp, I had thought to pay a visit to Asgard. There may be a useful book in the library there. Would… perhaps you would care to accompany me?" 

Annie looked at him, started to say something, and then there was the expression on her face that suggested tears were close. 

"I don't think I'd be the best company right now," she said, very quietly. 

"Of course," Loki replied hastily, shuffling a step toward the door. "I did not mean to… I will just… I may be rather late." Conscious that his words implied a perhaps unwarranted assumption of interest in his activities, Loki schooled his expression into an impassive mask and made another move toward the door. 

Looking suddenly, bewilderingly, alarmed, Annie said quickly, "Aren't you having anything to eat before you-- ?"

Loki shook his head and forced a smile, which felt dead on his lips. "I will have something there." Between courtiers, guards, servants, and visitors, the palace not only never slept, it also never seemed to stop eating. Surely he could persuade the kitchens to give him a sandwich. "I hope you... have a pleasant evening," he blurted, let himself out of the house, and fled. 

~oOo~

Ordinarily, given a period of reflection, Loki was able to tell whether he had behaved badly and should be ashamed of himself. Prior to coming to Bristol, he had not always acted on that awareness-- had almost _never_ acted on it, an uncomfortable impulse toward honesty, at least to himself, compelled him to admit-- but he had generally at least known it. 

As he got off the bus on the other side of the river, Loki now found himself not only distressed, but badly confused. He had definitely left Annie more upset than he had found her, but he was genuinely uncertain how much of that was due to anything he had done, and how much only to the situation. 

He finally concluded there was little he could do except to deal with the matter of Scamp, and then try again with Annie when he returned home. He had very little idea what "trying again" would look like, but perhaps something would occur to him. 

He refused to consider the possibility that after Owen's visit things would be even worse. 

His crushed spirits revived a little as he walked down the path toward the ruin, and spotted Scamp standing just inside the gate. Either the ghost had sensed his approach, or she had been waiting for him. Regardless, at his approach her tail curled over her back and her eyes brightened. Loki suddenly felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders. 

"Hello, Scamp," he called softly. Tail wagging, the dog spun in a circle and bounced up and down. Loki carried his bags through the gate toward the ruin, with Scamp bounding around him in a circle. Fortunately, it was almost impossible for even Loki to trip over a ghost. As he reached the open doorway, Scamp hesitated, then followed him inside.

The roof and most of the walls of the church were gone. There might never have been anything for the worshipers to sit upon, aside from the broken stone floor. But at the far end of the church a rough altar yet stood, and after a moment's hesitation, Loki approached it. Scamp did not hesitate to follow him, apparently perfectly comfortable inside the old church. She sat down at a slight distance from Loki and watched as he unpacked the bags he carried. 

First, he took out the basket and set it in the safest place he could find, which was under the altar. He folded the blanket into a loose bundle and tucked it into the basket. Scamp looked interested, but gave no sign of understanding what blankets in baskets were for. Considering she had probably been bound in this comfortless place since Loki was still a boy, he supposed that was hardly surprising. 

He patted the blanket, uttering a little crooning noise. Scamp stood, looked at him with the sort of deceptively intelligent expression the kittens sometimes turned upon him. Loki was quite sure his pets understood more than he thought they did, if rather less than he wanted to believe. He patted the blanket again, and Scamp stepped forward, then into the basket, where she turned herself around three times and lay down, exactly as the boarhounds of Asgard did in their kennels. 

"There," he murmured, "is that not better?" Affairs of the heart might be completely beyond his ken, but this at least he could manage. Scamp's tail stirred, and she looked at him exactly as the dog in the book had looked at the children. Then she rested her chin on the edge of her basket, and watched as he opened the smaller bag and brought out a chewable bone and a fleece toy that really looked more suitable for snuggling with than chewing. 

The toys were perhaps silly, but if Annie could move and manipulate objects, it seemed likely Scamp could at least imagine herself to be sharpening her teeth on a suitable toy. When he handed her the bone, she certainly seemed to perceive the purpose for it, and happily, if unproductively, gnawed on the end of it. Loki suspected a chew toy would last a very long time in the jaws of a ghost dog. 

And when he brought out the red plastic ball, she was delighted to chase it for as long as Loki was willing to throw it. 

He really dreaded the moment when he must leave, but this time Scamp accompanied him to the gate without visible distress, sat down in her usual place, and calmly watched him step through the opening. He blinked at her in surprise-- and then he understood. 

"You know now that I am coming back," he said to her. Scamp cocked her ears and wagged her tail obligingly. "It is true. I will come back, as often as it takes to free you. All right?" 

Scamp wagged her tail again and watched without protest as he walked down the trail. 

It was perhaps silly to ensure he was out of Scamp's sight before he went on to his next task, but Loki waited until the ruin disappeared around a bend behind him before stepping off the trail into the trees. It was also unnecessary to be physically surrounded by trees for what he had to do, but he could not deny, he appreciated the image. 

World-walking was one of Loki's more useful talents, at least within the Nine Realms. It was also not one he had made use of recently. The terms of his late banishment had not specifically restricted him to Midgard, merely denied him return to Asgard. The effect, however, had been to keep him where he was: as little as he had thought he wanted to go back to the realm on which he had been raised, the other seven had held even less attraction, what with being a war criminal on Jotunheim and almost certainly a pariah everywhere else. 

And besides, if the only punishment he suffered for his crimes was the loss of his freedom of movement-- well, the least he could do was to follow the spirit of the injunction as well as the letter. Loki had only ceased to name himself a son of Odin when he believed Odin to have renounced him. That did not mean the repudiation had ever been mutual, and if the only way to demonstrate that was by obedience in a small thing the Allfather would probably never even notice, he would try to do so. And then, after the true spirit behind his exile had been made clear to him, the requirement for compliance had been still more urgent.

He had, of course, failed spectacularly, seeming to end up back in Asgard at practically every turn, but since none of these returns had been with his consent, he had managed to escape punishment. And eventually, despite his failures in the matter of conforming to the terms of his exile, he had still been judged to have made what amends for his crimes were required-- or perhaps merely possible-- and with forgiveness the ban had been lifted. He was once again a free citizen of Asgard, as well as an unconventional yet formally-accepted resident of Great Britain, and while the people of Jotunheim would, understandably, be glad never to see him again, he was technically free to travel anywhere else in the Nine Realms he desired. 

Technically free to do so, but in practice Loki would need a good reason indeed for such a voyage-- say, a mission for the Allfather, or for Thor's allies the Avengers. In practice, the only realm aside from Midgard where he perceived ties and could expect any kind of welcome was Asgard. Which was almost funny, considering his longtime perception of the relationship between himself and his former home, but there you were. 

And here he was: with permission to return any time he wished (his father had specified "the right," but it felt to Loki like permission, and he did not mind the feeling) and the ability to do so. It crossed Loki's mind that he might have actually delayed longer than was courteous in making use of this permission, that it might appear he did not appreciate the gesture, but he squashed the thought ruthlessly. He really, really did not need to worry about anything else, particularly not when there was absolutely nothing he could do about it and was already on his way. 

One began by standing securely on the realm-- it might be possible to world-walk from a starting point within a tall building, but Loki had never tried it. Then one… reached out. Loki's mind, and also his magic, often worked by a process of analogy, and though he referred to the secret ways between worlds as "paths," in his own mind it always felt more like pulling himself up on one branch of Yggdrasil, and then letting himself down from another. He was, so to speak, in the process of hugging the trunk of the World Tree, preparing to step out onto the appropriate bough, when he suddenly thought about Heimdall. 

Technically, of course, there was no requirement for him to tell Heimdall what he intended to do before he did it: he was once again a prince of Asgard, and did not need the Gatekeeper's permission to come and go as he wished. Everyone, and particularly the Allfather, knew Loki could walk between realms unassisted, and no restrictions had been placed on that sort of travel when the overall ban was removed. 

It was largely because of Heimdall that Loki had learned these paths in the first place: whether justly or not, he had always perceived Heimdall's attention upon him as a hostile thing. The moment he had been able to do so, he had learned to conceal himself from the Gatekeeper's sight, and to go where he wished without asking Heimdall's leave. 

Which, now he thought about it, was probably not the most tactful way to have dealt with the situation. Indeed, as means of convincing the _Guardian of Asgard_ that one was up to no good, circumventing the Bifrost and deliberately hiding from his sight could hardly be improved upon. 

Unless, perhaps, one chose to wear a supervillainous helmet with _giant golden horns_ upon it while doing so. 

Yes, well, there was that. 

Now that he had finally proved to the satisfaction of the Allfather-- and his heir-- that he was not a threat to Asgard (Odin been easier to convince than some of the court, but fortunately his was the only opinion that counted) Loki did indeed have permission to come and go. And avoiding the sort of noise, confusion, and potential alarm caused by the opening of the Bifrost was a defensible reason for declining to call Heimdall every time he wished to say hello to his parents. 

Still…

One attracted Heimdall's attention either by being generally untrustworthy, or by deliberately invoking his name, which of course Loki had not. Now that he was officially no longer a threat, it was possible Heimdall no longer watched Loki's every movement, which meant there was a chance Heimdall did not know Loki was, at this very moment, on his way back to Asgard. 

And it suddenly occurred to Loki that simply appearing in the palace, so that Heimdall did not have advance knowledge of his arrival… would be _rude._

And that realization made him think about Annie again. 

Banishing the thought, Loki shifted his metaphorical grip on Yggdrasil, and reached for a different branch.


	5. Chapter 5

Given that his intent was to show courtesy to Heimdall, Loki decided that materializing in the Guardian's very Observatory would leave much to be desired. He therefore stepped out of the shadows on the bridge outside it. 

It was difficult to say who was more startled, Loki or the two palace guards, when they saw one another. One of the soldiers went for his sword while the other hefted his spear. At the same moment, Loki took a half-step backward and raised his hands in the gesture recognized on much of Midgard as indicating he was unarmed, and therefore posed no threat, and was thus an inappropriate target for lethal force. 

It crossed Loki's mind that the gesture might not be quite so efficacious in Asgard, where there were people with considerable reason to know that a Loki _unarmed_ was in no way the same thing as a Loki who _posed no threat._

But. The Allfather had declared Loki officially harmless to Asgard. Even so, it was still probably fortunate that the two guards were common soldiers, one of the very few categories of Aesir with specific reason _not_ to want to kill Loki on sight. (To be clear: Loki did not actually believe the general run of Aesir really _did_ want to kill him on sight, just that they had no particular reason _not_ to want to.) The word of some old soldiers who had known him as a boy, a couple of boisterous nights in the local tavern, and the small matter of putting himself between a regiment and a death-dealing flying reptile, seemed to have cemented friendly relations between himself and this particular group. 

Or perhaps a Loki wearing jeans, running shoes and, under his jacket, a red t-shirt with the puzzling slogan _McLaren Racing Group_ scrawled across the chest, really did appear harmless. Whatever the reason, both soldiers blinked at him in recognition, and then relaxed. 

"Sir," the one with the spear greeted him, reversing his weapon and holding it upright, while his fellow released his hold on the sword. 

"Hrald Bjornson," Loki hailed him in return, fortunately plucking the name out of a memory of old Balder Arnison bawling it across a table at the tavern. The soldier looked rather flattered to be remembered. Loki smiled at the two men and explained, "I would like to have a word with Heimdall."

"You may leave us," said the great voice from within the Observatory, and Heimdall stepped out of the darkness. Loki felt his chin lift, without any conscious decision to make the movement, and his shoulders go tense and square. He could hardly remember ever facing Heimdall without a similar involuntary physical reaction. It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that it really made very little sense for him to have spent so much of his life baiting one he feared so much. 

But it was not fear he felt now, as he watched the two soldiers withdraw a little way down the bridge toward Asgard. Guardians for the Guardian. Loki had returned to Asgard more than once during his banishment, but always in conditions of stress and anxiety, not always entirely in his right mind, and so he had no idea how long these soldiers had been safeguarding Heimdall. He only knew it had happened at some time after… everything he had done. 

Inclining his head toward the two men, he addressed Heimdall. "That is because of me, is it not?" Heimdall made a slight gesture Loki interpreted as declining to discuss the matter. It would be wise to heed it, but while Loki had sometimes been credited with intelligence, he did not feel anyone would name wisdom as one of his qualities. 

And besides, he was uncomfortably aware of an oversight on his own part, one he should have remedied long since. This was not the word he had come here to have, but-- 

"I have not apologized for my assault on you," he said abruptly. Heimdall's impassive expression did not change, and Loki was less sure than ever of the wisdom of pressing the matter.

He did so anyway. 

"When you defied me, after I usurped the throne… I attacked you. I deliberately did you harm, though you have always been a loyal protector of Asgard. I might have killed you-- I did not intend to, but it was only good fortune that I did not. And in return, you rescued my friends and me from the vampires, when they would have killed us all. I did not deserve your intervention, although my friends did, and that was not the only time since my attack on you that you have rendered me aid. I am grateful for your actions, and very sorry for mine." 

Silence. After a long moment, Loki recognized that an apology offered is not always an apology accepted. So be it. Before he turned away, Loki spoke again:

"I did not come here to say any of that-- I simply wished you let you know of my return to Asgard before I showed myself within its walls. However, you have always deserved more respect than I have ever given you, and I want you to know I regret my behaviour toward you. All of it. I am very sorry I wronged you." 

That seemed to encompass all he wished to say, and was surely more than Heimdall ever wanted to hear from him. It was past time to go. Loki had started down the steps of the Observatory to the bridge when the great voice spoke behind him. 

"It is not entirely on your account, that those soldiers are posted here."

Loki turned. "No?" It struck him that he had just been tactless, to remind Heimdall of the vulnerability he had shown when Loki turned the stolen Jotun artifact upon him. That had not been his intent, and whatever explanation Heimdall offered for the presence of the soldiers-- messengers, perhaps, which actually would make sense-- Loki composed himself to accept it at face value. 

"No," Heimdall replied evenly. "I betrayed two kings, and the Allfather was… displeased." Loki's expression must have looked as blank as his mind, because Heimdall clarified, "The Allfather expressly forbade your brother from going to Jotunheim. This I knew, and I sent all of you anyway, because my pride could not stand having those Jotun enter Asgard under my very nose and not respond." 

Loki could feel heat crawling up his throat and the back of his neck. His fault, of course. All of it. 

Heimdall's golden eyes flickered over his face. "Your wrong action does not excuse my own. And my own fault is the greater for being far older, and knowing full well that if Thor went to Jotunheim in that humour, war would result." Loki said nothing-- he had known it too, which was why he had tried to prevent it from happening. He could feel again the sick twist of horror as he realized his grip on the situation was slipping, that disaster would result, that things were going too far and it was all his fault. He had _counted_ on Heimdall not letting them go so easily, _counted_ on the guard delivering the warning in time for Father to stop them.

None of which absolved him for anything, not for the sly, backhanded words that had goaded Thor into action, and certainly not for letting the Jotun into Asgard in the first place-- an action which cost the lives of four men from two realms. Loki found himself looking at the ground before him, unable to meet Heimdall's eyes.

"And then," the Guardian went on, "not content with exposing Asgard to war from without, I risked civil war too, by disregarding your order not to let your brother's friends travel to Midgard. I would have brought him back, believing he would immediately demand the throne for himself. Or his friends would push him to do so, and he would give in to them. I courted war, and your death, in that matter."

Loki shrugged, pretending to composure. There would have been no civil war-- who would have risen to defend _his_ claim to the throne against _Thor?_ He and his brother had never spoken of it, but surely, at worst, Thor would simply have imprisoned him, and then ruled until the Allfather woke. Surely by then Thor had learned the sense to placate Jotunheim, would have headed off the war. It would have been better for everyone-- certainly for the Jotun-- if Loki had simply let them go, let it happen.

He tried not to imagine the effect imprisonment might have had on his mental state, even if it was intended to be brief, meant only as a solution to the temporary problem of his claim to kingship. He would have seen it as a grave insult at the very least, and what would have come of that?

It was not hard to picture himself still in a cell, still insane and raging, impossible to reach, immovably convinced he was being punished for failing to guess and fulfill the Allfather's purpose for him. Surely, though, Father would still have placed the spell on him to heal his anger. But what would that have done for him if he had not also left Asgard? 

Even if he had not been imprisoned, if Thor had only taken the throne back and tried to make his little brother return to his old place, his old role… Loki could not imagine himself acquiescing in that. Not the maddened, prideful creature he had been. Not with everything he thought he knew about himself crumbling around him. He did not think he would be able to go back to the old ways _now_ , even with the improved relationship between himself and Thor-- not that Thor would try to make him do so. He would not be able to stand it _now._ He could not imagine what his reaction might have been _then._

None of these were productive thoughts. Pushing away the images, he said lightly, "Such is often the fate of usurpers."

"Usurpers," Heimdall said, "do not command Gungnir-- she will not obey them. Do you think Asgard's throne has only ever changed hands by peaceful means? Death by old age, perhaps? Your claim was as strong as many a prior ruler, and the Allfather was not much inclined to ignore my giving comfort to those bent on sedition. My post is not one that can be filled by any other, but the king's confidence in me is no longer absolute, and so I am not only protected by those soldiers, but guarded."

Loki chewed his lower lip. "I am sorry," he murmured.

"Your crimes and failures were your own, and mine are mine," Heimdall replied. "You earned forgiveness and the return of trust, and so shall I. In the meantime, my punishment is not too onerous, and neither of us has done permanent harm to the other."

"And for my part I am glad of it," Loki said, and started once again to turn away, before it appeared he was trying to force some reciprocal word from Heimdall. But as he did so, something-- perhaps the awareness he might never speak so freely with Heimdall again-- prompted him to say: "You always knew what I was."

It was not a question-- not with the answer so obvious. Loki expected only a confirmation in return, and so he was surprised when Heimdall replied, "No."

"No?"

"No. I only knew you were Jotun. What you _are_ … that, I confess, I mistook. And assumed. And in some ways may, for a time, have helped shape." Pause. "I, too, am sorry that I wronged you."

Loki was vaguely aware of his face going slack in surprise, and a prickling at the corners of his eyes. Before he could compose himself enough to speak, the Guardian added, 

"The dog was given a potion."

"What?"

"The dog whose spirit you comfort. It was given a potion, to make it sleep. It would not have been aware of what was done to it afterward." Without waiting for Loki to make any response-- he was only now remembering Heimdall's ability to recall past events he had not specifically noted, and considering the possibility the Guardian might take an interest in his activities that was not hostile-- Heimdall went calmly on, "The Allfather and your brother, as well as the Lady Sif, have gone to Jotunheim. The queen is, however, in her chambers, should you desire to visit her."

And all Loki Silvertongue could think to say was, "Thank you, Heimdall." 

~oOo~

Loki had come to Asgard for the express purpose of using the library. He had intended to send word to his mother, in the hope that she would wish to see him afterward, before he left. (Well, it was more than a hope, these days. It was almost… an expectation, really.) 

That had been his intent, when he first decided to pay this visit. But the strange encounter with Annie had shaken him, and so had this one with Heimdall. Loki's history with his mother had not exactly been one of understanding and comfort provided, but… 

But he had always _hoped._ And he knew now that she, for her part, had always _wished_ …

As another set of guards stood aside to let him pass, Loki glanced around for one of the many servants who ensured the smooth running of the palace, exactly as servants did in the period dramas Annie liked so much. Exactly as porters did in hospitals, and custodians in schools. 

"A moment, please," he addressed a passing young maid, who stopped with a flustered-looking curtsey. "I wonder-- would you be very kind, and take word to the queen that her younger son is here, and would be glad to see her? If she has the time?" 

"Certainly, sir," the girl replied, with another awkward curtsey, although she looked terrified. Loki realized he had carelessly stopped a particularly low-ranking and probably very new domestic, the equivalent of the little creature who saw to the fires in the latest of Annie's favoured programs. With the passing of great houses and the advent of universal franchise, Loki was unsure whether such humble roles even existed in Britain any longer. 

In Asgard, it was still considered a fine thing to be a domestic in the palace, and this girl was surely a member of some unassuming and probably poor family, perhaps from the countryside. She should not even be in this corridor in the first place, had probably gotten lost and was trying to hurry back to her own part of the palace without attracting any notice. She would be eager to do well, afraid of overstepping her role, and he had just tasked her with _taking a message directly to the queen._

Loki sighed. Falling in with ideals of democracy and equality (not that they were ever perfectly executed) was all very well back home, but when in Asgard, one did as the Aesir, and one certainly did not frighten the life out of humble little serving girls by putting them in a position to be rebuked for not _knowing their place._

The fact that phrase still made his stomach curl was, of course, neither here nor there. 

"Forgive me," he said quickly. "I was not thinking. I can find my own way, and I am sure the queen will be glad to see me, even unannounced."

"Hulda is with Her Grace," the girl offered. Hulda was his mother's personal maid-- it was probably not permissible for this child to directly address her, either, but if he was uncomfortable inviting himself into the presence of the queen, Hulda could pass on his request for an audience. 

"Thank you-- " Loki paused significantly, but the girl simply blinked at him. "Your name?" he prompted gently. 

"Nauma, sir," she replied, looking rather panicky. There was a time when Loki would have assumed her fear was directly related to her expectations about his intentions, that she anticipated some show of malice. He was now inclined to believe the poor child simply existed in a state of latent terror. This would, presumably, abate when she was more confident about her… _place_ … in the palace, but he thought perhaps he would ask his mother to have a word with whoever was in charge of such staff, to ensure they were not being unduly fierce in their treatment of her and her fellows. 

"Thank you, Nauma," Loki said. "If you are seeking the fastest route back to the servants' quarters, I recommend you turn left at the end of this corridor and look for the door just beyond the alcove." Not for nothing had Loki spent nine hundred years and more sneaking around the palace.

"Thank you," the girl gulped, with another inexpert curtsey. It made Loki feel rather giddy just to watch her. With an expression of poorly-disguised relief, she watched him step backward and prepare to turn away.

It would, actually, have been appropriate for Loki to offer her a tip, as they said on Midgard, for her assistance and also in compensation for wasting her time. Having no Asgardian currency, he simply cast a small charm after her, one that would cause the next person she met to have the urge to be kind to her. He then deliberately set off in the direction opposite the one she was taking, knowing it would also be kindness to take his strangely-garbed yet still royal self out of her presence as quickly as he could manage. He looked forward to returning home, where passing encounters with strangers were not laden with such complicated and potentially alarming meanings.

Hulda did not look nearly as surprised to see him as he had expected, which on consideration really should not have surprised him: anyone who paid any attention at all knew the servants received and passed along news far faster than did the more official channels. 

Loki had always exercised a certain amount of restraint in the tricks he played upon servants. This was partly because his real malice was reserved for those who, he felt, genuinely disliked him and sought to do him harm. As far as he could tell, to the average servant he was simply part of the job like any other courtier, and emotions did not particularly come into it. This Loki could live with.

The other reason he did not torment the staff was because he was perfectly aware they could make his life just as miserable as he could make theirs, if they chose to do so. It was beyond Loki's abilities to let well enough completely alone, but the pranks he played on the servants had generally been fairly harmless. 

Perhaps for that reason Hulda was not displeased to see him, when he tapped at the door of his mother's private chambers and asked for admittance. Certainly she immediately brought him inside the outer chamber, what on Midgard might have been called a sitting room, and immediately made haste to find his mother. 

And then apparently found something to occupy herself, because his mother appeared at the inner doorway alone, her face lit up in what was definitely welcome. 

"Loki!" she cried, starting forward.

And then she hesitated, came to a halt in the middle of the room. 

Thor would, of course, have immediately swept his little brother into an embarrassing but welcome embrace. He probably would even have remembered not to crush the breath from Loki's lungs. Father would have shown more dignity, but recent experience suggested he, too, would have offered some sort of awkward caress. Loki was not too proud to admit he looked forward to such gestures, and he felt a jolt of the old anxiety when his mother did not seem inclined to offer one. What had he done _this_ time?

And then… Loki did not possess the ability to read the mind of another, any more than did Thor. However, of late it seemed Thor was remarkably adept at guessing what Loki was thinking. And now, as clearly as if he could see it really happen, or see into her mind, Loki received a vision of himself recoiling from his mother's embrace, a bitter expression on his face that said, _Too little, and too late._

Loki had once allowed himself to be distressed out of all proportion by the discovery that he was not related by blood to any member of his family. Apparently, blood ties were not necessary in order for a son to take after his mother. And the most direct means of addressing this sudden insecurity on her part seemed to be to continue forward, arms outstretched, as if he had not noticed anything amiss. 

And then his mother's arms were about his neck, and she was uttering words of welcome in a tone that only one highly attuned to such nuances would have recognized as deeply relieved. Loki wrapped his arms around her in return, as far as he could manage, which given the length of his arms resulted in him practically hugging himself in addition to his mother. It was some moments before either was inclined to let go. 

When she did, however, Frigga only pulled back a little, laying a hand against his cheek. 

"What is it?" she asked. Loki blinked down at her, and she let the hand drop to his shoulder. "There is something wrong," she insisted. "Will you tell me about it?" 

It was true that he had probably been… clinging a little… but Loki had still to conceal his surprise at his mother's question. And then he was ashamed: had he not realized that she wanted, as much as he did, to make things better between them? And had she not already made it clear she could, in fact, tell when he was unhappy? The problem had always been that she did not know what to do about it, had not realized that simply _asking_ \-- even if, as now, there was nothing anyone _could_ do-- might be enough.

And now she _was_ asking, and for once Loki recognized that she was also asking _him_ for something. And a moment later, they were sitting side-by-side in comfortable chairs, and he heard himself blurting out the whole story-- well, not Scamp, except for some confused digressions to begin with, when he was trying to determine where to start, but everything about Annie and Owen. 

"I know she cannot actually go back to Owen," he finally wound up his story. "He is alive, and she is… She cannot go back to him, but… there are other ways of leaving."

He was not exactly crying, but he was not exactly not crying, and he fumbled in the pockets of his jacket to find a tissue. As he did, he felt his mother's arm slide around his shoulders and pull him close. 

"Oh, my poor darling," she crooned. "I wish I knew what to say to make this better." Loki shook his head-- he was not asking her to fix anything-- and felt his mother press her lips against his temple. "She would not exchange you for anyone," Frigga insisted quietly. 

"Well, perhaps Colin Firth," Loki muttered, with a watery little chuckle. Frigga carded her fingers through his hair and sat up, although she did not release him. 

"I do not always understand your jokes," she said gently. "Although I always love to hear you laugh."

"It was not a very funny one," Loki admitted. "And only comprehensible on certain parts of Midgard." A thought occurred to him and he said hopefully, "If you were to come and visit us, we could explain it to you."

Frigga sat up, pulling back to look at him. "Are you in earnest?" Loki nodded. He had blurted out the invitation without stopping to worry about his mother's reaction-- really, imagine the queen of the Golden Realm in the pink house on the terrace-- but her expression made it clear she was as pleased to be asked as she was surprised. "I would be delighted to visit you. That would be-- " She kissed his cheek, and Loki exhaled. 

After a moment, Frigga returned to Loki's original point, which he had not belaboured because, really, there was nothing to be done. "I wish I had advice to offer you, darling. Everything was different when I was young-- arranged marriages have their drawbacks, but I do not deny they make everything simpler-- but it seems to me you should… talk to her." Frigga faltered as she uttered the words, and Loki actually heard himself splutter out another giggle as he leaned over and hugged her. Nine hundred years he had choked on every important thing he had ever wanted to say, and his mother recommended he _talk_ to Annie. 

It was not that the advice was bad. Of course not. He might even be able to follow it, now, and with Annie. But even aside from Loki's difficulty spitting out anything of importance to himself, there was the deeper issue.

"If I try to speak of this before she has decided how she feels," Loki began slowly, "I may… she may-- she _will,_ if I know Annie-- she will think of my feelings instead of her own, and that… would be inappropriate." He glanced at his mother and added, "And cruel. And… I cannot try to _make_ her choose me-- everything I did, before, was to… I cannot." Not to Annie, and not to himself, either. He could not go backwards like that. 

Loki could see realization dawn on his mother's face, and then she was holding his hand in both of hers. "I see. Well, you will do what is best-- I _know_ that." Loki sniffed a little at the expression of utterly unwarranted confidence, and his mother released one of her hands to reach up and touch his cheek again. "You have learned a great deal since you were that boy in so much pain he could not think about anyone else's. You will do the right thing, and Annie will… realize."

She did not say what Annie would realize, and it took Loki a moment to understand that his mother was implying his own worth was obvious, self-evident. It took him a further moment to realize there was no twist of mistrust in his heart at her words, no hateful internal voice wondering what she wanted of him, to flatter him so. His mother might be _wrong,_ but she was _sincere,_ and it was enough. 

Frigga went on, "And when you are ready to have me, I will come and stay, and you can explain to me about this 'Colin Firth'." 

Loki gave his mother a wobbly smile. First, of course, he would have to explain television, and DVDs. And possibly find his mother some Midgardian clothing, if she wished to come exploring, or visit the school. Annie would help him with that. Of course she would: no matter what else she decided, he and Annie would always be friends. If he had to, he would make that be enough. Really, the distinction between relationships was a fine one anyway, considering Annie was not always entirely corporeal even to Loki, and also considering he was still fully occupied trying to cope with the emotional aspects of dealing with those he loved. It was only… Owen had been the _most_ important to Annie. Loki wanted to be _most_ important to her, now.

Well, that was up to Annie, was it not? In the meantime, the mental image of his mother in a skirt and twin set, watching _Pride and Prejudice_ with both of them, was enough to bring a genuine smile to his face. Frigga gave him a look of both evaluation and affection, and perhaps realized this was as much as he could presently cope with. She squeezed his hand again and said, 

"I have not yet dined, and usually have something brought to me here when your father is away. Are you hungry? Will you join me?"

Loki smiled again. "I would be very glad to."

~oOo~

It was perhaps rather later than Loki had intended, by the time he left his mother's chambers and went on to the library. Fortunately, the librarian was willing to leave Loki unattended when it came time for him to quit his post for the day. This had little to do with Loki as a member of the royal family, and everything to do with Loki being one of the few people in Asgard who valued the library enough to use it regularly and take care with its holdings. 

Loki was accustomed to being alone in the library. It was, in fact, one of the places in which he had never felt lonely, occupied as he had always been with so much information about other places, and their peoples and ways. It had served his fantasies of a place different enough from Asgard-- or anyway his _perception_ of Asgard, which he was beginning to realize might be a different thing entirely-- to accept him as he was. 

The business about burying animals alive for magical purposes had belatedly given Loki to understand that he, too, might need to do some accepting-as-they-are, or were, with relation to the magic of Midgard. The whole horrible business had, of course, happened a very long time ago by human standards, but within his own lifetime, and Loki firmly reminded himself not to make too much of it. Modern British humans would find it every bit as distasteful as he did. The important thing, now, was to suppress his own tendency toward judgment and simply find out what the spell was about, and how it might have been cast. 

Before leaving for the evening, the librarian had assisted Loki in finding every volume that might be in any way relevant to his questions, assuring Loki that he and his assistants would be happy to re-shelve them in the morning. Loki knew perfectly well that this was librarian-code for "leave the organization of the collection to those who know what they are about," and despite his own familiarity with the indexing system in use, he was quite willing to acquiesce. Shelving was a tedious job at the best of times, and Loki was not always patient. His taste for mischief did not quite run to haphazardly stuffing books back in places they did not belong, but impatience might have the same effect.

And so he was, scribbling in a notebook at a reading table on the half-landing that commanded a view of the main reading room below, surrounded by stacks of texts. He had just realized he felt rather like the fourth little pig, who built his house of library books, when from below and far down at the other end of the corridor, he heard the great door open and someone come in.

At this hour, the library was formally closed, and the doors should have been locked, which indicated the person or persons entering were of sufficiently high rank to be trusted with the keys. Or capable of offering enough of a threat to either the librarian or his closest assistant to compel them to hand over the keys. 

There were certainly treasures worth stealing in this place, though most of the realm would not see it that way. But Loki was more concerned at the moment with the possibility of someone coming to find _him,_ and he was rather specifically aware that he was, at the moment, unarmed. 

Of course, as he had previously noted, a Loki who was unarmed was in no way the same thing as a Loki who was unable to defend himself. He slipped out of his chair and faded into the shelter of a book case, listening for the sound of a stealthy approach. 

He was nonplussed and rather embarrassed when a familiar voice called out, in a tone that sounded muted by respect for libraries rather than any wish for concealment, 

"Loki? Are you in here? It is Volstagg and Fandral." 

Whatever their past relationship had been, Loki certainly did not suspect them _now_ of any ill-will concerning his person. He stepped back out of the shadow and went to the railing, where he leaned over to look down.

"Up here," he called softly. "What are you doing here?"

Fandral grinned up at him. "Now there is a fine welcome. We heard you were back in Asgard, and wanted to say hello before you left again. Thor and your father will be sorry they missed you."

"And Sif," Volstagg added. 

"And Sif," Fandral agreed, starting up the stairs. "What are you doing? And do not say 'reading,' we are just about intelligent enough to see that for ourselves." 

Loki was still unaccustomed to the idea of raillery without barbs between himself and his brother's friends, so he contented himself with a quick smile as he retreated to his table. Fandral and Volstagg followed, with whistles of interest as they caught sight of the laden table.

"How long do you intend to stay?" Fandral asked. "It appears you have reading material for a lifetime here." 

"What are you looking for?" Volstagg asked, a much more sensible question. Before Loki could reply, Volstagg began picking up one book after another, inspecting the titles and setting them back carefully where he had found them. He glanced at Loki with a smile. "You were suddenly overcome with the desire to learn more of the magic of your new realm?"

"Something like that," Loki murmured. Fandral looked from Volstagg to Loki and asked, 

"Was there some particular reason you felt the need to learn all this in a single night? And why did you bring none of your friends to help with your researches this time?"

Apparently, he would be given no peace until he offered some sort of explanation. And there was nothing… threatening… about their interest. 

As Tony Stark might say-- what the Hel. 

"George and I were in the forest, on the night of the full moon, and encountered the spirit of a dog. She seems to be trapped in the ruins of a place of worship, though it is long abandoned and she is alone. We have tried to free her without success; I seek more knowledge of the kind of spell that might have been used, so that we might try again."

"Alone? I would have thought Annie, at least, would want to come help you," Volstagg remarked innocently, as he carefully replaced a book on top of a stack. "She must be interested in the fate of this creature." 

"She has… other matters… to concern her at the moment," Loki said stiffly. 

Fandral put the book he was looking at down on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from Loki. 

"Has she?" he prodded. Loki was already sorry he had spoken. Volstagg moved a pile of books out of his line of vision as he sat down, too. The hulking warrior could easily see over the stack, so Loki could only assume the point was to prevent Loki from hiding behind it. "Loki?"

He certainly did not want to talk about this with Fandral and Volstagg. Which did not explain why he had let the hint out in the first place: he certainly could have thought up a lie convincing enough to at least let them know their interest was unwelcome. 

So… perhaps he actually _did_ want to talk about it. There was only so much he could say to Mitchell or George, who had been Annie's friends first and had to find such confidences awkward. And unlike his mother, Volstagg and Fandral would not feel the need to reassure him, or be distracted by any unwarranted belief in his value. He did not believe they would be cruel to him, but he did assume they would feel little true concern, and it suddenly seemed useful to speak of this to someone who did not really care. Perhaps it would help him to remember the fate of the world was hardly at stake. 

"The house we live in is rented from a man named Owen," Loki blurted, before he could second-guess himself. "He is coming to meet us tomorrow afternoon, to see what we are like, and whether we need any repairs done to the house." _The boiler_. Loki had not thought of the boiler in two days. He would heat water by magic, or bathe in the form of a _penguin_ , forever if it kept Owen away. 

Fandral and Volstagg looked puzzled, and Loki got to the point: "The house belongs to Owen, but he does not live in it, because it is the house in which his betrothed died."

"Annie," Fandral said flatly. Loki nodded. To his considerable surprise, Fandral actually looked sympathetic. Well, Fandral had always seemed to like Annie. "And she is upset by this?" Loki nodded again. 

"And, therefore, you are, too," Volstagg stated. Tired of nodding, Loki shrugged. 

"Oh, well, I _am_ sorry," Fandral said generously. Then he ruined it, rather, by adding, "Not that I have any experience in such matters." Volstagg reached over and cuffed him briskly across the back of the head. "What?" Fandral protested, throwing up his hands in self-defense. "Is it my fault, that women always tire of my charms long before such a situation would upset either of us? Volstagg, I bow to your superior knowledge in this arena. We both do. How do you recommend Loki behave, when he returns home?"

"As little like you as possible," Volstagg replied drily. 

"Come now, he could figure that out for himself," Fandral insisted. "I was about to recommend he challenge this Owen to fight for Annie's hand--"

"Fandral, have you _been_ to Great Britain at any time in the past two centuries?" Loki demanded, and was surprised to find himself laughing. 

"-- but then," Fandral went on blithely, "I remembered this Owen is a mortal-- he is a mortal, is he not?"

"To the best of my knowledge," Loki agreed, amused. 

"And that being the case, you might be unfortunate enough to kill him, and then he would be a spirit, too," Fandral said thoughtfully. "Which seems to be counterproductive to your aims."

"Keep it up, Fandral, and he might kill _you_ ," Volstagg remarked calmly. "Which would _also_ be counterproductive to his aims, but still satisfying." He looked across the table at Loki. "I believe what Fandral is trying to say is, things have a way of working themselves out. Which is, unfortunately, little comfort when you want certainty." 

Loki shrugged. "So few things in life are certain," he admitted. 

"True," Volstagg said kindly. "Except that I am hungry, and if you had dinner in your mother's chambers, she probably did not feed you enough to keep you alive until morning-- "

"Not _you_ , perhaps," Loki murmured, and Volstagg laughed. 

"So, I suggest Fandral and I help you search through these books, and then we should all go to my home and Gudrun will give us a snack." 

Loki kept a straight face at the thought of what Volstagg's wife would probably consider a snack. 

"Will she mind?" he asked. 

"She will be glad to see you," Volstagg said blithely. "And the children would love to hear stories of your adventures in Midgard." 

Loki looked from Volstagg to Fandral and back. They looked perfectly friendly. It was a little disorienting. 

"I would appreciate the help," he said finally. 

"You will also appreciate the snack," Volstagg prophesied, as he took a book down from the stack and handed it to Fandral.

~oOo~

It was much later than he planned when Loki unlocked the front door of the house. His notebook was filled with scribbles that he hoped would solve the problem of Scamp, and he was quite sure he would not need to eat again for at least another three days. 

The house was quiet, with no sign even of Philip or Elizabeth, who were probably asleep on his bed. Loki hung up his jacket and bent to remove his shoes, so as to make his way upstairs without waking George or Mitchell. 

As he straightened, Loki became aware of a sort of rustle in the air around him, and he turned just as Annie appeared next to him. 

"Hello," he whispered. 

"You’re back," Annie said. 

"Of course I am," Loki replied, puzzled. 

"I thought… I thought you were angry at me," Annie whispered. 

"You-- what? No, no, I just… I needed to go to the library at Asgard, and you needed time to think," Loki replied. "And… and I wanted to visit my mother."

The next thing he knew, Annie was hugging him around the neck, and possibly crying a little bit. "I'm sorry," she said. "I did need to… I have been… I've been selfish. I'm sorry." 

Loki, his arms around her, could not stop himself from laughing. " _You_ are telling _me_ about being selfish? I think not. And you have not been. You just... needed this."

Speaking mostly into his shoulder, Annie mumbled, "Well, you could have told me I needed to be sensible. Owen's alive. I'm dead. I'm being foolish."

"Again," Loki pointed out, "I am hardly the person to tell another what is sensible." He hesitated, wondering if he had reached the point at which any more honesty was too much… and then he cracked. "And I did not want you to think I was forcing you to choose-- all my crimes, at the heart of it, were caused by me trying to put Thor, or Father, or someone, in a position to _have_ to choose me. I do not want… not anymore, and not to you. I am here, and we are friends no matter what, and… we will be all right." 

Against his shoulder, Annie said quietly, "I did love Owen. And I do love you."

Loki tightened his arms around her and whispered, "I love you, too."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** Sources for info on the spell include Wikipedia and the Catholic Encyclopedia, but once again I'm making things up to suit myself. The scene between Owen and the housemates is pretty much verbatim from **Being Human** , aside from a few modifications to include Loki. 
> 
> **Warnings:** None. For now.

By the time Loki disembarked from the bus the following afternoon, he considered himself lucky not to have fallen asleep in the vehicle and awakened on the wrong side of the city entirely. Two largely-sleepless nights in a row were, he judged, at least one too many for a whatever-he-was of his age. 

Even so, as he sent a text message and then hung around the street corner, waiting, Loki realized that, tired as he was, his mood was still cheerful. More than that. Indeed, he found himself filled with a ridiculous level of warm and kindly feeling toward… everyone. He loved all the creatures he saw passing by: humans and dogs on leashes, and birds chirping in the trees.

He had not slept the night before because there had seemed, somehow, to be a great many things for himself and Annie to speak of. In deference to the rest of the household, they had withdrawn outside. The late-autumn night being cold enough for bedroom windows to be closed along the terrace, it was therefore unlikely their quiet voices would disturb the slumber of either their housemates or the neighbours. 

The night really was too chilly for Loki's comfort, but Annie, knowing as much, had transported herself to his box room. She had reappeared carrying the flowered quilt that spent its time folded accordion-fashion at the foot of his bed in case of emergency. Loki might have felt foolish, had there been anyone but Annie to see him, at the image of himself sitting on the steps wrapped in its cheerful folds. But there was no one to see but Annie, who was enfolded in the quilt with him-- which was, of course, unnecessary, since Annie did not feel the cold. Necessity did not really come into it. 

Annie being a physically cold presence, it perhaps did not make a great deal of sense for her to be with him inside his barricade against the temperature. Sense did not really come into it, either. 

And so they had sat on the steps, and Annie had spoken of the plans she had when she moved into the house, the hopes and wishes she had for herself and Owen. It was much the same as the stories she had told him all those months ago, in another lifetime, immediately after he had bounced off her roof and crashed into her dustbins. The main difference was that now, instead of listening with uncomprehending devotion, like a pet, Loki was able to ask as well as listen and, more importantly, to understand the depth of the loss. 

Annie, who rarely spoke of herself, who thought first of others, who was embarrassed to draw attention to her needs, had withdrawn with her memories and her grief as though ashamed of remembering or feeling them. Now she entrusted them to Loki, trusted him, and he held her in his arms as she did so. 

They sat together as the sky lightened, beside the dustbins into which he had once fallen. Loki was filled with affection for the dustbins.

Now there was a rustle in the air beside him and he only just restrained himself from turning with the sort of smile on his face that would persuade any passerby that the dark-haired young man in the leather jacket had completely taken leave of his senses. He reached up to his left ear, in a gesture that, coupled with a small glamour, would make casual observers believe he was speaking on a cell phone with an ear device, and said, 

"Hello, Annie."

Annie materialized beside him, took his arm, and reached up to kiss his cheek. "Hi. How was your day?" Looking mischievous, she added, "Not too tired, are you?"

"I think I will make an attempt to sleep through the entire night, tonight," Loki admitted. Then he smiled, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes. "Unless, of course, you wish to talk again." Annie squeezed his arm, and Loki sobered. "And if you do, after Owen's visit, I hope you know that-- "

"I do," she replied, continuing to hold his arm. "I will. I hope I won't, but I will. If you see what I mean." Loki smiled, and Annie said briskly, "We should go-- Catherine will be wondering where we are."

Loki had rather shamefully neglected his work this morning. He had ducked into the upstairs boys' lavatory during classes, put up the "Closed For Cleaning" sign, and retrieved his little paperbound notebook from his back pocket. He flipped hastily through it, reviewing the notes he  
had made in the library of Asgard (and incidentally a number of unskilled drawings he had made of Scamp, during his various pauses for thought.) An idea had occurred to him, and he dog-eared the pages containing the information he thought he would need to share. 

Then he retrieved his mobile and sent a quick text message to Annie, who could not be heard on the telephone but possessed a mobile specifically in order to send and receive texts. 

She responded almost immediately, agreeing to meet him, after he finished work for the day, at the tea room where an acquaintance of theirs could be found. Loki had then made a call to arrange the appointment, and now they were approaching the meeting-place.

Loki opened the door, paused as he pretended to glance at his mobile phone-- a cover to humans who could not see Annie pass though the portal-- then followed her.

They walked into the tea room to the welcome scents of fresh baking. Loki was quite sure he smelled cinnamon buns, and resolved to purchase some to bring home to Mitchell and George. The comestibles provided by the tea room were mostly suited to morning breaks or mid-afternoon snacks, and this late in the afternoon the tables were empty, rather than occupied by customers consuming tea or coffee accompanied by a baked treat. 

This was not to say the shop was empty. There was a pleasant-faced young woman behind the glass display cases that constituted the counter. Loki paused to request and pay for half-a-dozen cinnamon buns. Then he and Annie made their way to the back corner of the shop, to the single currently-occupied table. 

Catherine Bennett, medium and sorceress (as well as owner of the tea room, and originator of the cinnamon-bun recipe-- which was all the proof anyone should need of her powers) sat at the table with a half-finished cup of tea before her. She looked up with a smile as Loki and Annie approached, and she was not alone. 

"Good afternoon," Catherine said pleasantly, eyes flicking from Annie to Loki. "I think you remember Agnes Scott?"

Since Agnes Scott was the sorceress who, some weeks past, had enchanted Loki's brother into the form of a kitten-- but later released him-- Loki remembered her very well indeed. The incident had been resolved with no lasting harm to anyone-- even Thor had eventually found it amusing, though Loki had chosen not to tell him _why_ the spell had been cast, since that would only hurt his feelings-- and Loki turned a friendly smile on the witch. Her intentions had been good, at least with regard to himself, and he now felt quite kindly disposed toward her, too. 

"I do remember you," he agreed. "It is pleasant to see you again, and I hope you have been well." Annie expressed similar sentiments of friendship and greeting, and Agnes Scott looked slightly relieved, as though she had doubted her welcome among the friends and family of her recent sort-of victim. 

"I have been," she agreed. "My human friends continue to be very kind to me. Margaret, who I think you remember-- ?" Loki nodded: Margaret was the senior member of the group of humans who believed themselves to practice sorcery, though none of them knew of Agnes's true powers. They were, however, kind and welcoming, and Margaret herself, in addition to a motherly disposition, possessed a most delightful black Labrador by the name of Nelson, who would probably wag his tail at anyone short of invading Dire Wraiths.

"I do," Loki agreed. 

"Margaret has almost convinced me that I should have a dog," Agnes explained. "She says there is nothing like coming home to a wagging tail."

Loki, for his part, would in the very recent past have declared a strong preference for a loud purr and a head rubbing against his ankles, but under the current circumstances he simply nodded his agreement. "I think anyone would enjoy such a greeting," he said. "Will you also choose a Labrador?"

"Margaret has offered to come to the RSPCA with me, to see what sort of dogs need a home. She referred to it as 'rescue,'" Agnes explained. "And I think, if I understood the message Catherine passed along from you, that might bring us nicely to the purpose of this meeting."

"And so it does," Loki agreed, pulling the notebook from his pocket and laying it upon the table. "Should we review the circumstances before we proceed?"

"I think that would be a good idea," Catherine agreed. "Just to make sure we all understand things in the same way."

Between the two of them, Loki and Annie told the story of the ghost dog, and of their initial fruitless efforts to rescue her. 

"The problem does not appear to be iron," Loki finally summed up. "The texts I consulted in the library of Asgard were incomplete, but-- "

"The library of Asgard has books about Earth magic?" Catherine asked, as though Loki had not already said so. Loki nodded. "Why would they-- ?" Catherine let her words trail off, and Loki explained, 

"The current librarian, who has held the position since the reign of my grandfather, holds it as his mission to collect all the knowledge of the Nine Realms and beyond."

"That must be a very large library," Catherine murmured. "I assume you use compact shelving?"

"Magic," Loki replied, and then, with a grin, added, "You might say it is bigger on the inside. There is even a book about the Beatles." Even Agnes Scott giggled at the jest-- although it was perfectly true. Loki went on, "As I was saying, the references I consulted were incomplete-- much of the magic of this time seems to have never been formally recorded. However, I was able to determine this much." He opened his notebook, flattening the pages under his hands. "The magic involved is said by some to be a holdover from older pagan beliefs, and was practiced by 'early' Christians." He glanced up. "I have been unable to determine exactly how 'early' are the dates being referred to. At any rate, apparently there was a belief that the first man buried in a graveyard was cursed to forever protect it from evil spirits. The business with the dog was intended to circumvent that necessity, leaving the human spirits in peace: the poor dog is trapped as a guardian of these souls." Plaintively, Loki added, "I do not understand the purpose behind this. Do not the spirits of humans immediately pass through a symbolic door, bound for whatever afterlife awaits?"

"They do, mostly," Annie agreed, and of course Annie would know.

"Yes," Agnes said, "but most of us don't _know_ that until we die for ourselves. Before the Middle Ages, the predominant belief was that the dead were… sleeping, really, waiting for the resurrection of both body and soul at the end of time."

"That idea held on for a long time," Elizabeth contributed. "In fact, it's still held by some faiths. That was one of the reasons for resistance to cremation in some places-- it's only been legal in England for a little over a hundred years."

"Ah," Loki murmured. Funerals in Asgard generally involved a flaming pyre, and possibly the dead individual's household goods being burned along with the corpse. Loki had occasionally wondered whether he would himself awaken in some afterlife-- not Valhalla of course, but something-- surrounded by the ghosts of his own spell books. Given that he no longer knew what manner of afterlife he should look ahead to, Loki now tried not to think about it. 

"What we're wondering," Annie said, "is, what is it that keeps the dog's spirit tied to the location? Like Loki said, at first we thought it was the iron fence, but that doesn't seem to be right."

"No," Agnes said thoughtfully, "it wouldn't be that. The ruin you're talking about probably isn't even the church that was on the site when the enchantment was laid, and there wouldn't have been an iron fence back then."

"Is it the business of hallowed ground?" Loki asked. "Mitchell, our friend who is a vampire, was unable to accompany us into the churchyard because the ground was hallowed. Could that be what ties the dog to the spot?" He hesitated. "And if that is so, how can we change it?"

"You can't," Agnes, the former religious, said decidedly. "The diocese can formally declare a church building to be no longer consecrated, if it's turned over for secular use. Also, if the church falls into disuse or disrepair it's eventually, in effect, no longer consecrated. But a graveyard can't 'fall into disuse' as long as the dead are still buried there, so it would have to be deliberately deconsecrated-- which is unlikely. Among other things, it would be discourteous to the dead."

Loki felt his shoulders slump, and the bubble of happiness that had carried him through the day evaporated. "So you are telling us there is nothing we can do?" Annie reached over and took his hand.

"Actually, I'm not," Agnes replied. "I don't think consecration has anything to do with it. It's old pagan magic, so I think it's probably connected to the bones."

Loki sat up straight again. "Really? So… do you think… "

"Disinter the bones, and you'll probably free her," Agnes said. "I would imagine the biggest of your problems will be finding one specific set of bones in a cemetery, but once you do…"

Loki turned to Annie, and knew the hope in her face reflected that on his own.

~oOo~ 

It seemed almost unbelievable, but both Loki and Annie had quite forgotten, until they got home, that any other important event was planned for this day. 

They were reminded of it when they walked into the house and found George and Mitchell rushing around, tidying and dusting and generally sprucing up the place. 

"Loki, is the catbox clean?" George demanded, as Loki came through the door. 

"Of course it is," Loki replied, puzzled and a little offended. "At least, I left it clean this morning, and will attend to it as soon as I am properly inside the house once again. Are you accusing me of neglecting my responsibilities?"

"Of course not," Mitchell said hastily, flapping a duster at George. "And Owen isn't coming here to criticize our housekeeping-- "

"Owen," Loki said, blankly. Then-- _"Owen!"_

"Yes, Loki," Mitchell said, looking cautiously at Loki as though he expected him to begin foaming at the mouth. Loki ignored him and turned to Annie. 

"Are you sure you are-- ?" he began. 

Annie reached up and kissed him quickly on the lips. "I'm sure. I'm fine. I just need to see him again. To sort of say goodbye."

George looked at her in a panic. Really, it was very strange to see George losing his head in this manner-- he was highly-strung, it was true, but now he really seemed to have lost his mind. "You can't _come in_ when he's _here!_ What if he _sees_ you?" 

Annie rolled her eyes. "He's not a _vampire_ , George. He won't be able to see me."

"But he had… you had a _connection_ ," George wailed. "Perhaps he _can_. Loki, _tell_ her."

Loki raised both hands in a gesture of repudiation. "I have no role in this," he said firmly. "This is for Annie to decide, and to do."

Mitchell cast a searching look at Loki, who met it levelly. Mitchell then turned to Annie. "Really? Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Annie insisted. "I need to do this, and then it'll be over. George, I'll go upstairs and peek over the railing. He can't see me anyway, but he _won't_ see me. Calm down."

"Yes, George, for the love of God calm down," said Mitchell, in a tone that suggested he had probably been saying that at intervals for several hours. 

George started to splutter again and Loki resisted the urge to place a placatory enchantment upon him. A small one. Just because there was no time to rush out and purchase tranquilizing drugs. 

"What is the matter with you?" he demanded. George waved his hands in the air. 

"We never have… strangers. Humans, I mean, not superheroes or aliens or… And, and-- it's _his house!_ If we do something to tip him off to what we are, he could put us out in the _street!"_ he wailed. 

Loki looked at him in dawning horror. All right, being rendered homeless in Bristol, when one was employed and possessed friends, was not precisely the same thing as banishment or casting oneself into a void. All the same, he did not _want_ to be compelled to leave the pink house where they were all so happy. Mitchell glanced at Loki's face and spoke up hastily, 

"That's not how tenancy law works, George, and besides, nothing is going to tip him off. _Calm down."_

"He may have heard of, of our connection to the Avengers, though," Loki pointed out, suddenly anxious. "If so, he will be aware that I am an alien."

"Yes," Mitchell said soothingly. "A very powerful magical alien, whose brother can call down lightning strikes big enough to take down a helicarrier. He's not going to throw you out in the street, or your harmless human buddies." George made a noise that sounded rather like a dog whose tail had been stepped on, and Mitchell gestured at him desperately. "Calm down, George. Really."

A thought occurred to Loki, driving George's panic right out of his mind. "Annie," he asked, "do you wish for Owen to be able to speak to you?" She stared at him, clearly puzzled, and Loki clarified, "We are acquainted with a medium, yes? Owen will surely speak of you. Would you like for us to recommend he consult her?" 

Annie hesitated, brow furrowed in thought. Loki had a moment to reflect on exactly how adorable she looked when she was deep in thought, and then she replied, "Let me think about that. I'll… think about it. Maybe."

 _"Maybe,"_ George wailed. _"Maybe. Maybe_ we'll wake up tomorrow and there'll be a _mob_ with _flaming torches_ and _pitchforks_ on our _doorstep."_

"So long as it _still is_ our doorstep," Loki reminded him. George made the tail-stepped-on noise again. 

And just at that, there came a knock at the door. Annie started at the sound, and then turned to Loki. 

"If you can work it into the conversation, ask if my sister has ever had a baby. She and her husband have been trying for years. I blame her husband-- _Robin._ Works at the post office." Annie rolled her eyes. Another knock sounded, George whimpered in panic, Annie kissed Loki swiftly, and then she vanished. 

Loki sat down in the armchair as Mitchell started toward the door. George made a dash for it as well, saying urgently, "Don't forget about the boiler. No, I'll mention it. In fact, you had best let me do the talking." 

Loki could not see Mitchell's face, but he could tell by the set of his shoulders that the vampire was rolling his eyes. George glanced over at Loki, who found it within himself to smile encouragingly. Even in his state of near-hysteria, George looked puzzled, and Loki could not blame him: only moments ago, Loki had been in quite a state about the prospect of Owen's arrival, and now he felt perfectly calm. 

More than calm. He felt kindly disposed toward Owen, and deeply sympathetic. Annie belonged to her new life-- afterlife-- now, and Owen had lost her. Loki was astonished to find within himself not any sort of miserable triumph, but genuine compassion. He did not use "lost" in the sense of "win or lose," but in the sense of… of desolation.

Loki had always felt for Annie's family and friends, although he did not know them, at least whenever he thought of them. He could hardly even imagine the grief that must be felt by her parents: his own mother and father had been terribly upset when they believed they had lost _him,_ and he was certainly not Annie. Owen's sorrow must be second only to theirs. It had been nearly three years since her death, but even given a brief mortal lifespan, that was nothing like long enough to get over a loss of such magnitude. Loki found himself astonished at how genuinely sorry he felt for Owen. 

Mitchell, at the door, cast a ferocious "pull yourself together!" look at George, and turned the doorknob. The kittens heard the door open, and came scampering from the kitchen to see who had come to visit them. Elizabeth hesitated at the sight of the stranger who entered, and then ducked under the armchair, to peer out at him from between Loki's feet. Her brother glanced back at her, which gave Loki a chance to scoop him up as Mitchell ushered Owen into the lounge.

He looked nothing whatsoever like Colin Firth. 

Loki managed to banish the ridiculous thought and get his expression under control before Owen turned to him with a smile. Mitchell performed the introductions, George squeaked, and Loki, in an effort to cover for his friend's ongoing panic, stood and extended the hand not containing a kitten to their landlord. 

"I am pleased to meet you," he said, as warmly as possible, and Owen smiled back as he shook hands. Mitchell cast a desperate glance at George behind Owen's back, and from the top of the stairs there was the sound of something falling over. To Loki, it sounded like a mop being overturned in a bucket. George started violently, Owen gave him a mystified look, and Mitchell said loudly, 

"George, why don't you go and see what that was?"

"Yes, thank you Mitchell-- " George trailed off and bolted for the stairs, Owen looking extremely puzzled as he gazed after him. Loki took the opportunity to covertly study Annie's former beloved. He was about as tall as Mitchell, equally dark as to hair and eyes, and though he was not nearly as strikingly handsome as Mitchell, Loki was capable of enough fairness to admit he was attractive. He had the sort of kind eyes Annie would naturally be drawn to. They would have made a lovely couple, Loki thought sadly. 

Mitchell spoke up, apparently intent on distracting their landlord from the peculiar behaviour of one of his tenants: 

"Can I get you a drink, Owen? Tea, coffee, couple of beers in the fridge-- ?" 

Owen turned to him, smiling in relief at the normalcy of the question. "Actually, I wouldn't mind a beer, thanks."

"I will-- one moment," Loki murmured, set down the kitten, and went off to retrieve the beverages. Philip scampered after, scurrying under Loki's feet as he walked toward the refrigerator. Loki glanced down and whispered, "You will not be happy until I step on you, will you?" Philip mewed and bumped himself against Loki's leg. Loki felt it a minor triumph that he managed to return to the lounge without dropping a bottle or stepping on the kitten. 

When he got there, he was a little surprised to see George had still not returned, and then he realized Annie must have seen George's hysteria, and made the noise expecting Mitchell to send him to investigate. She must even now be trying to calm him upstairs. Loki turned his smile at the thought toward the two men who remained in the lounge. 

Mitchell was sitting on one end of the sofa, explaining about the boiler and its habit of leaving them to bathe in cold water. Owen sat at the other end, promising to come have a look at it. Loki could only hope Owen actually knew something about home repairs, or they might end up in worse straits than ever. Elizabeth sat bolt upright between the two of them. 

"Are you saying hello to our guest?" Loki asked her, in his talking-to-the-kittens voice. It was… an exceedingly fatuous voice, actually. Loki heard himself a beat too late to do anything about it, but then he realized that, if he wished to distract Owen from considering the idea he might perhaps be a powerful alien sorcerer, portraying (revealing?) himself as what Tony Stark might call a "cat nut" was a fairly effective way of going about it. 

The next thing he noticed was that Owen seemed to be making a point of keeping his distance from Elizabeth. The kitten's expression was outraged, which could have reflected her opinion of his refusal to pet her. Or it could reflect the fact she was a kitten, and such expressions are remarkably common among kittens. Loki handed over the bottles of beer and picked her up. 

"Sorry," Owen said sheepishly. "I'm really not a cat person." 

"Ah," said Loki, for lack of anything more intelligent to offer. Surely Colin Firth was fond of cats. But he smiled, because Owen had suffered a loss and Loki meant to be kind to him, and settled back into the armchair with both kittens on his lap. 

"Cheers," Mitchell said, gesturing to Loki with his bottle before touching the neck of it to Owen's. 

"Cheers," Owen replied, and smiled at Loki. "Like I was telling Mitchell, it's such a relief having you guys here. It didn't work out with the last lot of people. I think they heard what happened and… let their imaginations run away with them." He glanced at Mitchell and then Loki, looking as if he regretted speaking. "You do know-- about my fiancée?" 

Mitchell shrugged. "A little. Just… what the estate agent said."

Owen turned away a little, one hand going to his face. "Yeah, I've hardly been back since. You can imagine, it's still kind of… weird… being here."

Mitchell looked at him with sympathy and interest. "What happened, exactly?-- If you don't mind me asking."

Owen looked uncomfortable indeed, but he spoke. "Um… We'd literally just moved in-- I mean, we were still living out of boxes. And… it was dark-- I hadn't sorted the wiring out yet-- and… she was at the top of the stairs… and… I dunno. They said she must have… fallen awkwardly or… something..." 

Owen cast his eyes down, Mitchell continued to turn the full warmth of his sympathetic regard on him, and Loki felt his hands going cold around the beer bottle he held. 

"What was she like?" he asked softly. 

Owen looked at Loki, expression open and vulnerable. "Annie? Oh… she was… kind… funny… cleverer than she thought she was…" He looked down at his hands, with a wistful smile, and said quietly, "And she was mine."

There was a pause, then Loki set his beer down by his feet and gathered both kittens in his hands. Mitchell glanced at him, perhaps wondering if Loki was about to suggest the medium, then said gently, "I believe… people can leave an echo, in a place where they were. I know the tenants before us said they could detect something. Maybe that's what it was."

Owen frowned. "Well, they said it was creepy."

"It's not," Mitchell said quickly. "It’s not creepy." He smiled. "It's good. It's happy. We like it." He had just turned, as if to solicit Loki's agreement, when George came back down the stairs. 

Owen looked up at him with a smile. "What was it?"

"What?" George asked. "Ooh, um-- " He turned to gesture awkwardly toward the stairs, and said, "It was… it was a pigeon."

Owen laughed in surprise. "A _pigeon?"_

"Must've left a window open," George said, nodding, with an overly earnest expression that one should not have to be the God of Mischief to know meant he was lying. Ineptly. For one who had for years been concealing his werewolf nature, George was a surprisingly maladroit dissembler.

"Well, have you got rid of it?" Owen asked, still half-laughing. 

"I… killed it," George replied, with the air of saying the first thing that came into his head. 

Loki kicked over his beer, and Mitchell and Owen nearly choked on theirs. Mitchell, with an expression of disbelief, echoed, "You _killed_ it?"

George nodded, obviously wishing he had thought of something-- _anything_ \-- else and blurted feebly, "With a shoe." 

There was a horribly awkward pause, in which Owen presumably considered whether he should call the RSPCA to report the incident, and George considered whether the floor might swallow him, and George's friends considered smiting him about the head and shoulders. Then Owen spluttered, 

"You know what, I should… I gotta get going-- "

"Yeah," Mitchell agreed in a hurry. There were noises of farewell, and of regret from George the presumed pigeon-slayer. Mitchell said, "It was lovely to meet you, Owen," and shook his hand. Loki nodded in farewell and then fled into the kitchen to find a tea towel before he was responsible for corrupting his kittens with alcohol and the RSPCA came to arrest him. 

When he came back into the lounge, Mitchell had just closed the door behind Owen and turned to George with an expression indicating he did not know whether to administer a merciless beating or a merciless teasing. "How did you do that? Stay so calm?"

"Okay, shut up--" George attempted to defend himself, but Mitchell was ruthless. 

"You're a _spy,_ aren't you? I mean, you've clearly had training, because the way you held it together there, it was _chilling._ " Mitchell turned to Loki and demanded, "Seriously, could you have done any better? Because I am quite sure I couldn't." Loki kept his eyes on the puddle he was wiping up, and Mitchell repeated, "Loki?"

Conscious that Annie would be on the stairs, Loki glanced up and shook his head. And then she was walking into the room with them, and Mitchell forgot both George and Loki to say, "You made him very happy. He loved you. You made him happy."

Annie smiled at him, teary yet peaceful. "I'm glad, but… he sounds like he's moving on, too, and I'm glad about that." She shook her head. "I think… he's someone I used to know. Isn't that strange?" she said, speaking directly to Loki. He smiled at her, stood-- magicking away the wet tea towel as he did so-- and stepped forward. Annie came to him and put her arms around him. 

Loki did not like to lie to Annie, so he hoped she could not feel anything peculiar in his embrace. She was, for once, thinking mostly about her own reactions, and so she did not seem to. 

But later that evening, when Loki came running past the place of worship on the street behind their house, he once again saw the flare of Mitchell's cigarette as his friend stepped out of a shadow. Loki pulled up to a walk. 

"Mitchell?" he said, crossing the street to meet him. 

"What's the matter?" Mitchell demanded. Loki blinked, and did not respond immediately. Apparently, this was admission enough, and so Mitchell pressed, "You went a little quiet and weird after Owen left. What is it?"

Loki was tempted to point out that _weird_ was rather a relative term where he-- or any of them-- was concerned. Instead-- since it was only themselves, and Annie was not here to be distressed-- he said,

"There was… a lie there. In his words, I mean. He is a good liar, and I cannot tell you exactly what the untruth was, but… it was there."

Mitchell's brows drew together. "Loki, are you sure-- ?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Mitchell, please. I know when someone is lying in my presence." Well, there was the matter of his parents, but surely he could not be blamed for failing to recognize a lie that had been told him since before he comprehended language. And at its heart… was it even a lie after all? 

This was hardly the time to think about that. Loki went on hastily, "And humans are easy." He hesitated. "And besides… did it not make you uneasy, when Owen told us what his lost beloved was like?"

Mitchell looked puzzled. "He said she was kind, funny, clever-- "

"And _his,"_ Loki emphasized. Mitchell opened his mouth, and then closed it. Loki went on, "Is that how one speaks of a person they love?"

"Loki," Mitchell said gently, after a moment, "think for a minute. How many times have you told us something is _yours_ when what you really mean is, _something I love and feel responsible for._ You've described _England_ like that. Maybe that's what he meant."

Loki was already shaking his head. "No, Mitchell. Imagine me describing this realm to one of Asgard. What would I say about it?" When Mitchell did not see to know how to respond, Loki answered his own question: "I might say it is welcoming, and confusing, and filled with kindly people. I might even call it a… a green and pleasant land. I cannot imagine any circumstances under which I would say it was _mine._ Not if someone asked me to describe _what it is like._ Would you describe a _person_ you loved in such terms?" 

Mitchell took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette and was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, "You really felt something fishy about him?" Loki nodded. Mitchell scruffed a hand back through his hair. "What are you going to do about it?"

Loki spread his hands helplessly. "Nothing, I suppose. Owen has nothing further to do with Annie. Her memories of him are happy, and there is no way he can harm her now. Besides-- if I do not know what he is lying about, I cannot be sure there is even anything sinister about it."

Mitchell studied Loki thoughtfully. "But you really don't believe that, do you?" 

"Why would he lie to us, whatever the lie might be? Why would he speak of her so? Does Annie not possess lovable qualities in abundance? If anyone asked _me_ to describe her-- "

Mitchell smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure it would take you a while to run out of things to say." Serious again, he asked, "You sure you're okay with hiding this from her?"

 _Ouch._ "I am not really concealing anything," Loki protested. "I do not _know._ I am just… troubled. Were she alive, and still with Owen, I would speak up, or at least try to determine the source of my unease. As it is, I can see no reason to burden her." 

Mitchell dropped the dog-end of his cigarette on the pavement, ground it out, and picked up the squashed remains to dispose of at home. "Okay. That makes sense. Have I gone and stirred you up, or are you going to be okay?"

"Okay, I think," Loki replied. "In fact, I think I am glad to have shared this with someone."

"Well, good," Mitchell said, with a smile. "Then let's go home." 

He turned down the street, and Loki followed him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we abandon canon once again, and Loki gets to exercise his new skills in empathy and compassion. Let's see how that works out for him.

When Mitchell and Loki came through the door, Annie and George were stretched on the couch together, and _Pride and Prejudice_ was on the television. George, on the side nearest the kitchen, glanced at them over Annie's head and mouthed the words, _"Help me!"_

Suppressing a smile, Loki walked into the lounge.

"Have you just begun watching?" he asked Annie, looking at the television screen. On it, the Misses Bennett were only just being made aware of the imminent arrival to their neighbourhood of the very desirable Mr. Bingley. It was therefore apparent the program had only just begun.

"Yes," Annie replied, then reached over and pinched George. "And George is plotting his escape already."

"I never!" George protested, scrambling out of Annie's reach. 

Annie arched an eyebrow at him, in a gesture that frankly looked rather like Loki. "It's sweet of you to sit with me, George, but honestly, you don't need to. I'm perfectly all right."

One did not need to be the God of Mischief to suspect Annie's brave words were not entirely truthful. _Pride and Prejudice_ was of course a favourite program of Annie's, but it was also one she watched for comfort. She was, of course, always pleased to show it to a new audience-- Thor, for instance, when he was recovering from his time as a kitten. And if Loki's mother did indeed pay a visit, it would take little coaxing to persuade Annie to explain to the queen about Colin Firth.

However, George had of course seen the program many times before, so that was not the reason Annie had brought it out now. Loki strongly suspected her present wish to view it was an indication of an understandable lingering emotional upset. She had claimed to be all right after Owen's visit. Perhaps she really was, at least for the most part, but… still.

And with that realization, a decision was made for Loki. As he approached the house, he had wondered whether his wisest course might be to withdraw to his box room for the evening, and there study his spell books for a way to rescue Scamp. He had thought this would reduce the likelihood that he might tip Annie off as to his own state of unease, which would certainly upset her even if she only thought he felt jealous of Owen. Loki did not even want to think about how she would feel if she realized what he was actually distressed about. 

The drawback to that idea was, simply, that Loki was not at all in the habit of spending the evenings alone in his tiny bedchamber. Loki loved his former box room, found it comforting, especially when he woke at night. However, it was far too small to be a comfortable place in which to spend much waking time, and besides, he liked to be with his friends. It would therefore be unlike him to retreat to his room for such study, and to do something so unusual would be an indication of something troubling him. It would, in other words, be an even stronger hint to Annie that something was wrong. 

And so, now, he smiled at her and said, "If you will have me, and if George is willing to cede his place, I will come join you after I have tidied up and changed."

Annie smiled back, and Loki kept a straight face as both she, and George behind her back, blew a kiss at him. 

~oOo~

Annie appeared to notice nothing amiss when Loki, damp-haired (really, what with getting all sweaty during his twice-daily runs, Loki used more hot water than George and Mitchell combined, and therefore the boiler problem was certainly all his fault) and in his sleeping clothes, returned to the lounge with three of his spell books and the kittens trailing behind him. Loki took the unoccupied end of the sofa, Annie shifted over to lean against his left side, and George surprisingly did not take the opportunity to flee after all. 

It took a moment to get settled: Loki put two of the books on the coffee table in front of him, then opened the third on his lap, which Elizabeth and Philip took as an invitation to sit upon it. Loki was unsure whether it was normal for kittens to behave so, or whether his were unusually intelligent, but he had noticed that Philip and Elizabeth were always deeply interested in anything he happened to be reading. 

This might have had unfortunate consequences to an ordinary book, and indeed Loki was very careful to protect those he borrowed from the library from their little clawed feet. Magical grimoires, being suited to use in the presence of supernatural forces (and probably dragons), were a great deal sturdier than they looked, and so the kittens would not harm them. However, it was quite difficult to read through their furry little bodies, or to consult the index at the back with both of them mewing in protest between the pages. 

"Really, you two are most unsuited for the role of bookmarks," Loki remarked, as he lifted Elizabeth from the page for the third time and handed her to Annie. Elizabeth promptly squeaked and scrambled back onto the book beside her brother. 

"It's not hard to tell whose pets you two are," Annie giggled, scooping the little animals into her lap. As the kittens protested, she added, "I know I'm not cozy like Loki, but surely I'm more comfy than that old paper."

"Apparently they are thirsty for knowledge," Loki remarked, fending off the renewed interest of the kittens while he changed books. Finally finding what he needed in the index of this one, Loki turned to the appropriate section.

"What are you looking for?" George asked, leaning over Annie to peer at the grimoire. 

"I require a spell to scry for bones," Loki explained. 

"You what?" George said blankly, and from the armchair Mitchell also looked interested. 

"Have we not told you of our meeting with Catherine Bennett and Agnes Scott?... Apparently not," Loki answered his own question. Of course not: their attention had been otherwise occupied as soon as he and Annie arrived home. "Briefly, then, they believe the secret to freeing Scamp is to retrieve her bones. We will naturally search the grounds in case her grave has a marker, but I very much doubt that will be the case, and therefore we may have to resort to other means of locating her remains."

"Wait, wait, wait just a second there," Mitchell spluttered. Loki looked at him in surprise. "Are you planning to _do a spot of grave robbing?"_

Loki blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, are you sure you'll be able to tell the difference between dog bones and those of a small human, without digging them up, I mean? It's a pretty good bet some of the graves in that churchyard have lost their markers over the years, or were never formally marked in the first place. In fact, there could be layers of them. Will you be able to tell whether you're digging up the grave of a dog or a child before you do it?"

Loki felt rather at sea, and was becoming defensive at Mitchell's tone. "I will not know until I try. It is possible I will be able to get a sense of the shape of the skull or teeth, which would identify the species."

"I don't see what you're so upset about anyway, Mitchell," Annie weighed in. "There's nobody in that churchyard except for Scamp. Even if some of the people buried there are still ghosts, they're haunting places that have meaning for them. Personally, I've never been to my own grave, and I suspect that's true of a lot of ghosts. Loki won't be hurting anyone."

"Well, if anyone happens along and finds the graves all dug up, that would definitely draw the wrong kind of attention," George remarked. "I don't think we want that."

"No, I see that," Loki admitted. Glancing at Mitchell, he addressed what he now understood to be his friend's concern: "And I have no wish to offer any insult to the dead." 

"I seem to remember there are rituals about the burial of the Church Grim," George said placatingly. "There might be clues that can help us narrow down your search. We could look that up, if it's not in your notes."

"I believe it is," Loki agreed, cast a summoning spell, and his notebook flew from his jacket pocket to his hand. (This was a matter of considerable interest to the kittens.) With Annie reading over his shoulder, Loki flipped through the pages, deciphering his own handwriting with a little difficulty. Normally his script was quite precise, but he had been distracted and hurried this time, and as a result some of his notes were more like scribbles, and tiny besides. 

Even so, he was able to find the section to which George referred. Annie spotted it at the same moment Loki did. 

"Wait, does that say she was buried under the _altar?"_ Annie demanded in dismay. "Because digging all _that_ up sounds like a lot of work!"

"I was mistaken in that note," Loki admitted. "It seems that was the custom in Scandinavia, where such creatures were also created. In Britain, let me see-- she would have been buried on the north side of the churchyard." He glanced up at Mitchell. "Which does not preclude other graves near hers: if Agnes is correct and the current ruin is not even the original church-- she suggested as much based on the length of time involved, I think-- there would be many generations of burials, all mixed up together." 

"So, no stonemasonry needed," Mitchell said grimly. "Just a strong stomach."

Loki felt himself beginning to lose his temper. "Mitchell, I am not going to _leave_ her there. She met an ugly fate to serve the superstitions of backward people, and then was discarded when the church was abandoned, and has been alone ever since. The very least owed her is the chance to pass on to some sort of rest. If that means temporarily disturbing some other bones, I will do so, though I do not wish to. Since you cannot enter the churchyard, you will not be part of this effort, nor will I discuss the matter any longer in your presence if you prefer it so, but I will not _stop."_

There was a silence of the sort that once would have utterly terrified Loki, to say nothing of the anger on Mitchell's face. As it always did on such occasions, a part of Loki stood back and watched with lingering surprise as he quarreled with his friend and yet was confident they would continue to remain friends. An argument, even a fairly serious one, was not enough to destroy the love between them. There was untold relief in that awareness. 

And then Mitchell sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. "Okay. Annie's right anyway, there's nobody really _there._ I just… Apostles' Creed. It must have popped back into my head, or something." He did not clarify this puzzling remark, and Loki did not ask. "Just… please, Loki, be respectful."

"I will," Loki promised, hurt in spite of himself, and Mitchell grimaced at the expression on Loki's face. 

"I know. I didn't mean to sound like-- I'm just making this worse. I know you'll be careful, and put things back as they were." He glanced at Annie. "And I know we can't just leave her. Of course not."

Loki very carefully did not sigh with relief. "I promise to be careful. And respectful." A thought crossed his mind, and he dismissed it. Mitchell had not lived in Bristol for long enough to have… for anyone he had…

Annie glanced at the faces of her friends and reached for the television controller. "I think that's enough _P &P_ for now. Does anyone mind if I put in _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ instead?"

Loki leaned over and kissed her. 

~oOo~

On Friday, it rained so hard that not even Loki was foolish enough to go searching for bones. He and Annie caught a bus across the river and arrived at the ruin late on Saturday morning. Once again, Scamp was thrilled to have company. Wagging her tail violently, she spun in circles and jumped up on their legs, yapping gleefully. Annie crouched down, Scamp crawled halfway into her lap, and Annie scratched the roots of her ears and scruffed down her spine. Scamp plastered herself against Annie, but when Loki came over to say hello the dog seemed pleased to see him as well, twisting her head in his direction and wagging her tail even harder. 

"I am happy to see you, too," Loki crooned. "And I hope in a short time we will be able to release you from this place." Scamp ran out her pink tongue and smiled at him, and Loki continued to scratch her neck as he turned to Annie. "I will cast the scrying spell and search for her bones. If I think we have found something, I will come back tonight with the spade." Mitchell and George had made it very clear that no digging could go on in daylight. The church gate had been one thing, but evidence of digging within the actual graveyard would upset any humans who heard about it. He would have to work either at night or under a glamour, and very carefully hide all traces of his activity.

Loki really did not understand why this was considered such a serious matter, given the graves were effectively unoccupied and the bones within them had been forgotten for so long. However, he could only remind himself that he was not himself human-- and also that he expected, when his time came, for his remains to be burned on a pyre and his ashes scattered, so his frame of reference was quite different from that of a modern Briton. Living as he did on the humans' realm, it was only polite to avoid giving offense. 

And besides: there had been the business with the human who had nearly encountered the werewolf only a few weeks ago. Interest in the incident seemed to have died down, but really, it was still too soon for someone to be digging up the graveyard in these same woods. 

"Oh gosh, that's right," Annie agreed, when Loki mentioned it. "With our luck, half the city would end up thinking the woods are full of devil worshipers or something."

Loki actually felt himself blanch. "Or connect these strange events to the dubious sorcerer who has taken refuge in your city." 

Annie patted his knee. "Not so dubious, and it's your city too, now. I'm pretty sure nobody here is going to assume the worst of you. But still-- "

"Best not to draw attention to strange activities in the very woods where George transforms," Loki completed the sentence for her. "Very well. I will be careful. Perhaps you could play with Scamp while I conduct my preliminary investigations?" 

It was unclear to Loki whether Scamp understood any of this exchange, or whether it was a coincidence, but she immediately squirmed free and dashed into the ruin, emerging with the red plastic ball clutched in her little jaws. It crossed Loki's mind that if any humans happened by, the sight of a red plastic ball apparently floating about on its own would certainly attract the attention they were trying to avoid. 

But he could hardly take the toy away from her now, and he did not especially want to make an issue of ghosts at the moment. So he left Annie tossing the ball for the happy little ghost dog, and walked slowly along the boundary formed by the derelict iron fence, casting a low-energy concealing glamour as he went. 

With that done, Loki reviewed the location of the sun and used it to position himself on the north side of the ruin. He could hear Annie's laughter and Scamp's excited barking from the other side of the churchyard as he turned his back to the broken wall and took in a deep breath. 

Let it out slowly. 

Breathed in again, and once again let it out in a long silent sigh. 

As he drew in his third breath, Loki could feel warmth and light beginning to fill him. 

Since coming to Midgard, Loki had seen many films and television programs which depicted the use of magic. Many of them seemed to feature, if not actual pointy hats, then at least self-important rituals of a sort in which Loki could not imagine himself indulging. Admittedly, these rituals had probably evolved for reasons which made sense in the Midgardian context, but Loki could not see the utility for himself. For one thing, his earliest practical experiences had mostly come while tagging along with Thor and his friends, who had had little enough patience with his sorcery, and so Loki had quickly learned to waste little time in getting to the point of any working. Also, in fairness, magic cast under these circumstances had generally been for the purpose of extracting them from the jaws of some peril too large for Thor to deal with by hitting it, and thus the impatience of the others had in fact been justified. 

So: Loki had learned early on to dispense with ritual and incantation, and depend mostly on his own powers of concentration and whatever magic he could produce or scavenge from the environment around him. On Midgard, this was normally not very much, and so it was the case now: the power filling him now came from inside, as though his heart and lungs were filled with light. 

The sounds of Annie and Scamp playing receded into the distance and faded away as Loki's consciousness reached out, then down, feeling its way through the earth before him. He worked slowly, pausing to investigate anything that seemed out of pattern with the soil, pulling gently back when small tunneling or wriggling consciousnesses shied away from his "touch." 

It was slow and tedious work, almost like a magical version of the painstaking archeology he sometimes saw depicted in scientific television programs, in which the humans sifted patiently through layers of dirt, seeking clues to their past. Loki had never used his magic in this way before, and he was discovering he was not especially talented at it. The task was not impossible, and he was sure his perceptions would improve with practice, but he was far better at locating beings who were alive, and gaining a sense of their intentions, than at finding items that were not alive and determining their shape. He felt rather as though he was fishing through a kitchen drawer, blindfolded and wearing heavy mittens, trying to find a particular teaspoon.

Even so, Loki eventually found himself able to form an impression of the relative size of these buried objects, and if he focused hard enough he was able to "see" whether the article was a single large rock or a collection of smaller things that might perhaps be bones. He had taken the precaution of providing himself with a pocketful of small white stones, and groped his way forward to place some of them on the spots underneath which he thought there might be a skeleton. These places would at least bear looking into a little more closely, when he came back with rested and better-practiced sorcery. 

He had marked half a dozen such places, three of them near the church walls, before giddiness and pressure at his temples forced him to stop. He more or less felt his way to the church wall, and sat down with his back to it, head tilted to lean against the cool stone, eyes sliding gratefully shut. 

He was not sure how long he sat there, but eventually he felt a cool presence close to his left side, and another across his feet. Loki opened his eyes to find Annie by his side, and Scamp on his feet, both looking at him with friendly interest and concern. 

"All right?" Annie asked, taking his hand. 

Loki started to nod and then thought better of it. "Yes, fine. A little light-headed, but it will pass shortly."

"We should have thought to bring lunch," Annie said, her fingers tracing a cool pattern on the back of his hand. Loki turned his head toward her. 

"That is unnecessary. I will have a cup of tea when we return home." And really, he preferred not to eat in front of both Annie and Scamp, neither of whom could join him. 

Annie smiled, and Scamp stretched, then got up and trotted around the ruin. She returned carrying her red ball, dropped it next to Loki's right hand, and backed up a step. When Loki did not take the hint immediately, Scamp pushed it toward him with her nose, then stepped back again and barked hopefully. 

Loki found he had not the heart to tease, so he picked up the ball and threw it as well as he could from his seated posture. Loki was not particularly good at such throwing-- a ball was not exactly the same as a knife-- but Scamp was not critical of his skills and happily chased and brought it back repeatedly. 

"One thing about a ghost dog," Annie remarked, "she'll never get tired playing fetch. We might be here for a very long time." 

Loki made a face. "I am a member of a very long-lived species." _Whichever one it was._ "I have time." Annie giggled and leaned into his arm. Just at that, Scamp brought the ball back and fell over at Annie's side, chewing awkwardly but happily on the toy. 

Annie reached down to scratch Scamp's floppy ears, then asked, "Have you found her yet?"

"Not yet," Loki admitted. "I have located several possible graves, but I have been unable so far to be sure what they are, let alone determine the size of the, the occupant. It may take further practice before I can really see what is under the earth."

Annie hugged her knees. "Too bad you can't just ask some ants to look for you. You know how you are with ants."

Loki wrapped an arm around her. "That is a wonderful idea," he said. "I shall try it next time we come here. Or perhaps some other tiny creatures would be willing to assist us."

Annie snuggled into him, gazing out over the churchyard. "It's so quiet," she said softly. It seemed she wished to say something else, so Loki tilted his head against hers and waited. After another long moment, she said, "I wonder if it's this quiet at my grave."

"You said you have never gone to see it," Loki said. 

"No," Annie replied. 

Loki turned toward her. "Would you like to?"

~oOo~

They wished Scamp farewell and caught another bus back across the river. Loki made a detour to purchase some flowers, since he had the impression, from television, that leaving flowers on a grave when one visited was an accepted Midgardian custom. (He had every intention of going back to the flower vendor later, to obtain more flowers for Annie to bring home with her.)

The cemetery was well-cared-for, peaceful, and much larger than the little churchyard in the woods. As Annie had no idea where her grave lay, Loki made his way to the maintenance office and asked for information. The woman there kindly looked up directions and sent him on his way.

A few minutes later, they stood looking down upon the shining stone, Annie's cool fingers entwined with Loki's. ANNA CLARE SAWYER was engraved upon the surface, with the dates that confirmed the heartbreaking brevity of her mortal life. 

And below, that, in large letters, the legend: _Beloved Fiancée of Owen._

As he read it, Loki felt himself once again bristle inwardly at the statement of possession, as though Annie's only claim to importance was _Owen's_ claim upon her. He tried to remind himself that he was known to be over-sensitive to such assertions, and often unfairly. His own parents had not meant to call him a possession, when they said he was _theirs._

And yet… and yet, surely, when he fell, when they thought he was dead… surely his father and mother would have chosen other words, if asked to speak of him. Surely there was some quality besides ownership they would have referred to in telling others of their child, to make them understand what was lost, _who_ was lost. Surely Annie's parents and sister would, in speaking of Annie, really _speak of her._

Surely, in all of the English language, there were words, perhaps from one of their poets or their books of prayers, that could evoke _Annie_ , and not merely the man who claimed entitlement over her. 

Annie herself did not seem disturbed by the inscription upon the stone, and so Loki held his tongue as he laid down his sweet-smelling tribute. After a moment, Annie remarked, 

"It really is peaceful. You'd think I'd be able to rest here, wouldn't you?"

"I hardly think so," Loki teased gently. "There is no one here to talk to. You would find it very-- " _lonely_ "-- dull." He jumped as Annie poked him just below the ribs, where he was ticklish. 

Then she wrapped her arms around him. "You're right. I like our house better. Are you ready to go home?"

"I think so," Loki replied, refraining with difficulty from any gesture that would cause passersby to realize he was embracing an invisible companion. "Are you?"

"Yes," Annie said, and then stiffened against him. 

"What is it?" Loki whispered, glanced down at her, and then looked in the direction she was facing. 

There were two humans walking toward them, or rather Loki, or rather the grave. The man was tall with smooth brown skin, the woman small and pale, her eyes gentle. Both were careworn, older than their years, and something about their features… If one was to combine their features… 

Loki knew before Annie spoke who they must be, but he stayed quiet until she whispered, 

"Loki-- those are my parents."

"I thought they must be," he whispered back. 

"What are they doing here?" Annie asked, a question which needed no answer. "We have to go."

"It is too late," Loki pointed out without moving his lips. "They have seen me, and will wonder who I am. And besides-- " 

He thought of his father, paying his lonely visits to Heimdall, asking for word of his lost son. He thought of these two sorrowing mortals, coming to visit this place because they thought their daughter rested here. How often had they come, and Annie had not known it because Annie was elsewhere? Had they believed she could hear the words of love they must have uttered, told each other they felt her presence, tried to find comfort in the illusion?

Loki stood his ground as they approached, smiled at them and then knelt before the grave to straighten the little bundle of flowers he had laid there. The woman smiled tentatively. 

"Were you a friend of our daughter?" she asked. 

Loki stood and turned toward her. "I was. I… did not know her well-- " the lie felt strange on his liar's tongue, but he wished to offer comfort, not embroil himself in more complicated lies-- "but she was kind to me, when I came to Bristol." There-- he found his footing, ironically, by taking refuge in the truth. He looked at the two faces that reminded him so much of Annie's, saw their hunger for a crumb of contact, of something new and fresh they had not known of their daughter's kind-heartedness. He stood with Annie right there beside him and tried to find a way to reach across the gulf of their grief. "I had come here, briefly, to study. I did not know anyone, and though she was herself new to this place she made me feel welcome."

"Annie was like that," said her father. 

"Were you a friend of Owen's, too?" her mother asked. 

"No," Loki replied, partly because Owen was alive to be asked, partly because something in him revolted at the idea of friendship with the man for whom he had, briefly, felt such compassion. "No, I met him once, I think, but I did not know him." Loki felt an unaccustomed sense of anxiety over the lies he was weaving: he could not consult with Annie right now, but nor could he remember times or dates or how long she had been in Bristol as a live person. He did not want to say things that her parents would later recognize as lies. 

The best lies were the simple ones, the ones that were mostly the truth. "I did not know Annie for very long-- I was only here for a short course of study, and then… I recently returned to Bristol and, and thought I would… I had not time to make many friends, when I came here, only Annie, and I was sorry we had, had lost touch." Annie's fingers brushed the back of his hand, but she did not distract him by speaking. He had told more fluent lies in his time, but this stumbling recitation suited the lie he was telling now, and the truth that lay under it. "I had never forgotten her-- she was the kind of person who is never forgotten-- and when I tried to find her, the young men who now live in her house told me… I am so sorry for your loss," he took refuge in the commonplace words used by humans at such times, but what else was there for him to say? 

They were looking at him strangely, Annie's parents, but not because they mistrusted his words. Loki was sure they believed him, but there was something else there, something…

"She must have… made quite an impression on you," Annie's mother said at last. 

"She did," Loki assured her, and was astonished to feel his throat begin to close, as though he had lost her, too. "One does not need to know a person like Annie for long, to always remember her. She was a kind, good person, and more alive than anyone I have ever met. It does not seem possible that she could be-- " 

"No," said Annie's father. "It doesn't."

And her mother looked at him, her eyes still gentle but very steady. 

"Are you the reason he did it?" she asked softly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** In which Annie's parents have their say. In the series, Annie's mother appears once, in season 2, and she seems to know or suspect something. In the context of the show, she might at that point have been told something, but for purposes of this story we're going with, "she and Annie's father had their suspicions." We depart a little from the details of canon but not the overall sense. I haven't found out where Annie lived before she and Owen came to Bristol, but since the actress who plays her uses her own accent I've gone with London. 
> 
> **Warning:** For discussions of past domestic violence (and **Major Character Death** , I guess-- although, since she's been dead since we've met her, it probably doesn't count.) 

When Loki was badly startled, he sometimes likened the feeling to missing a step in the dark. 

On this occasion, the feeling was more like that of missing the step and then tumbling awkwardly down the entire staircase. To land, with a fractured skull, on the tile floor below. 

"Wh-- what?" he managed, not even embarrassed by the tremulous gasp that was all he could produce. It was nearly the same breathless little sound he had uttered in the weapons vault, when his father confirmed his most terrible fears were true. 

This was worse. If this was what he thought it was, this was far, far worse.

Annie's mother did not flinch as she repeated, "Are you the reason he killed her?" 

"Carmen," Annie's father said softly, a word of comfort rather than rebuke, but his swift glance at Loki held no accusation. 

"I do not… What do you mean?" Loki looked from Annie's mother to Annie's father. He was genuinely stunned, almost stupid with the shock-- he had not liked Owen, had found him "creepy," but he had not expected _this_ \-- but he had presence of mind enough to look around, apparently vacantly, as though he had also been blinded by it. 

He was not blinded, but when his eyes fell on her Annie looked as though she was: pale and wide-eyed, not aware of Loki at all as she stared at her mother. He did not dare let his gaze linger on her, turning back to Annie's parents with who-knew-what expression of blank horror on his own face.

Annie's father looked at Loki with what appeared to be compassion-- an emotion that was entirely unwarranted, if they really suspected him of being, of being the reason… 

"Carmen," Annie's father repeated gently, addressing his wife, "it isn't his fault. Even if he really was-- "

"What are you saying?" Loki asked. He heard the shrill, demanding note that crept into his voice and struggled to master it. "You believe _Owen-- ?"_

"He was jealous," said Annie's mother. "Controlling. She said… she said she was all right, she said that he loved her. And maybe he did, in his way, but… she watched him. The way you watch someone you're not sure of, someone you think might turn on you any minute. She stopped speaking up when he was around, as if it would annoy him to hear her. She started wearing long sleeves. Always. And she... was sad, when she thought no one was looking at her."

The gray sweater, with its sleeves that came nearly to her fingertips. Her self-deprecation, her desperately polite efforts to fend off that foolish, mostly harmless young soldier at the tavern in Asgard, as though she was afraid to tell him to leave her alone…

Annie was gentle and polite and tried to hide instead of standing up for herself-- and that was because standing up for herself had led to her being… to her being harmed. Why had he not _seen?_ Why had _no one_ seen? 

It made little sense for a brief acquaintance of Annie's to be nearly weeping as he faced her parents again, but Loki's eyes were filling with tears and he had not the strength to hide them. 

"He would hurt her?" he asked. Annie's mother raised a hand, and he shied back instinctively. If she touched him, she would be able to see Annie, and that could not but make matters worse. And besides, he did not want her comfort, not when she was the one who needed it, she and her husband.

And their daughter. 

_Especially_ their daughter. Why had they not been able to protect her? Was _no one_ ever able to protect their children? 

The thought was unfair, and he knew it to be unfair: these were only mortals, with lives just a little longer than that of the daughter they mourned. It was ridiculous to expect them to wield more power than the Allfather himself. 

But still, they must not touch him, and he did not want them to. 

"I'm sorry," Annie's mother said, her expression more distressed than ever, and Loki suddenly realized she believed that _he_ believed she would strike him. "Max is right, it's not your fault, even if Owen thought-- "

Loki shook his head, heart pounding. "He did not. He could not have-- " And then he choked down the rising feeling of illogical, panicky remorse: of course Loki had nothing to do with whatever Owen had done. That had happened three years ago, when Loki had been fully preoccupied with his own descent into jealousy, madness, and evil. Whatever he had been doing, he had not been harming Annie, nor had he been goading anyone else to harm her. The fault was not his, and still less was it Annie's.

He took an awkward step backward, as though turning away from her parents' words, and caught Annie's eye. _What should I ask them? What would you have me say?_

"Do they have any proof?" Annie asked, her faint voice echoing her faint hope. "Are they sure he really did it?"

"Are you _sure?"_ Loki obediently parroted, despite the sick feeling growing in his stomach, the feeling that told him this was _true_ , it had _happened_ , it all _fit together._

"Nothing we could take to the police," Annie's father admitted. "We spoke to a very sympathetic officer-- "

"Mr. Herrick," Annie's mother supplied, and so distressed was Loki that it took him a moment to remember the name of the murderous vampire captain, whose mortal disguise had been as an officer of the law. "There was nothing… Owen said he went to the grocery store after work, and he had a bag of shopping to prove it. Nobody at the store could remember exactly when he was there, but he was new to the neighbourhood, and store clerks don't remember strangers the way they do the regulars." 

Loki swallowed, thinking of the friendly girls who chatted with him as they rang up his purchases. If Owen had not gone away after Annie's… after Annie's murder, would he have replaced her with one of them, and served that girl the same way? Had he done so elsewhere, to some young woman whose ghost Annie would never meet?

"It was nearly winter," Annie's father went on. "It got dark early. She was… she had been dead for a while when he called for help. She could have fallen hours before Owen got home, if he was telling the truth."

"He wasn't telling the truth," Annie's mother insisted, and her husband nodded. 

"And there was nothing you could do?" Loki asked softly, one hand reaching back aimlessly as though he did not know what he was doing. Annie's fingers closed around it, feeling even colder than they usually were. 

"We had no proof. Not even that he abused her," Annie's father said. "I'm sure he was careful to let one lot of bruises fade before he gave her any more."

"And it wouldn't have always been hitting," Annie's mother said. "Even before they left London, I used to wonder sometimes, about his 'jokes', the ways he would 'tease' her."

 _Just a bit of fun._ Loki felt ill. 

"They moved here, far enough away that we couldn't come see her very often," Annie's mother said. "I'd call and she wouldn't call back. Maybe he wouldn't let her. She didn't know anyone here, didn't have anyone to ask for help."

"She was isolated," said Loki. _Like prey._

"Yes," said Annie's father. 

"They were supposed to be married," said Annie's mother. "They were planning their wedding. Her sister was going to be matron of honour, they were picking out the dress. Annie honestly seemed to be happy and excited, when I spoke to her. Either she had gotten very good at pretending, or she only called when he was being sweet-- because he could be very sweet, I'm sure that was part of the problem, she kept hoping she could find a way to keep him like that-- or… maybe she thought things would get better after they were married, that he would be sure of her, or something, and he wouldn't need to… control her so much." 

Loki let his fingers curl more tightly around Annie's, felt her move closer to him. Owen would never have been sure of her. Not unless he, too, had fallen through a void with a healing spell following him. Or unless he realized he was wrong, was at fault, and took steps, as some wise mortals did, to find healing for himself. 

But why would he do so, when in his eyes the fault was surely Annie's? If she would only behave exactly as he wished, then he would not need to…

It took a considerable effort of will for Loki to avoid being physically sick, and he was very glad indeed they had not brought any lunch to the ruin. 

"And then one day something must have happened that he took as an excuse to go too far," Annie's mother said. "Whether he meant to kill her or not, he pushed her. Or maybe she was trying to get away from him, and she fell. I _know_ it." 

Glancing sideways, Loki saw the stunned expression on Annie's face begin to fade, and then change, as though something was coming into focus, as though she was remembering something. Loki wondered if this was what his own face had been like, when he looked down at his arm in the grasp of the Jotun and saw blue suffusing his skin. 

The difference was, he had only _believed_ his discovery to be monstrous. It had not been monstrous, only... surprising. Upsetting, yes, but not as much as he had thought it to be, and not because there was anything _inherently_ horrible about it. 

What Annie was remembering really _was_ monstrous. 

"And the worst if it is, she couldn't _tell_ us," Annie's mother wailed, grief overwhelming her self-control so her voice did not so much break as shatter. "Why couldn't she _tell_ us? Did she think we wouldn't _care?_ Why couldn't she _trust_ us?"

_I am your mother, and I was unable even to teach you to trust me. What is wrong with me? _

Behind him, Loki did not hear so much as feel Annie gasp, and then she blurted, 

"It's not your fault. It was mine… It was mine-- "

"It was not your fault," Loki repeated, for Annie. And then-- also for Annie-- he clarified, "It was not your fault, it was _Owen's_. He committed the crimes, and the fault is his. Not Annie's, for loving him, or yours, for not knowing what to do. _His."_

"But this wasn't the first time… " Annie's mother wailed. "Not the abuse, but she used to… _All_ her old boyfriends, they were _all_ \-- "

"It's true," Annie whispered, behind him. "It's true, I did this to myself, I-- " 

There was a sort of rustle behind him, the cold fingers let go of his, and Annie was gone. Loki restrained himself from throwing himself after her. She would be going home, and he must… He would follow her, and try to comfort her, but first he must finish this, do what he could for her parents. 

"They were all in need of rescue, were they not?" he asked, suddenly sure it was true. Annie had told him of Owen, at least of the gilt-edged and mendacious memories she had taken to her afterlife, but she had not spoken of any other young man before him. After he realized that Midgardian social rituals suggested there must have been others before Owen, Loki had wondered why she had not done so. Was it because they were not important to her? Or was it that, after it became clear Loki had no similar memories to share with her, she had not wanted to remind him he was an outcast and always had been? 

But there had been other young men, other boys, and they would have needed to be rescued, as he had needed to be rescued. Only, sometimes, when one rescues strays, one gets bitten. 

"Yes," said Annie's father. "They were all troubled, and Annie would take them in, and it always ended badly. She always got hurt. And I never understood why she _did_ that. Did she think she had to _prove_ she was worth loving? Did she think she didn't _deserve_ any better?"

"She deserved a _prince_ ," Annie's mother murmured. 

"She deserved better than that," Loki murmured back. And then he said, "I, too… I was also in need of kindness when I met Annie. And she was kind to me. Genuinely kind, and I have always been grateful to her and have never forgotten it. Her compassion was not a flaw, and the fact it was taken advantage of was not her fault." He hesitated. "And I do not believe she would blame you, for not knowing _why_ she felt such a need to come to their rescue. There are things we cannot know about the ones we love, because they do not always know, themselves. You cannot blame yourself for not knowing things Annie might not have recognized, either."

Annie's mother raised a hand to her eyes, wiped the tears that had finally started to slide down her cheeks. "We shouldn't be burdening you with all this. I'm sorry. We just… you're the first person we've met in Bristol who was really Annie's friend. Everyone else they knew was Owen's friend first."

"And so they were loyal to Owen first," Loki nodded. "Yes. I know how that is. I was Annie's friend, and I wish I had been there for her when she needed help. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. Is there anything I can do for you, anything at all?"

Annie's father shook his head. Annie's mother said bleakly, 

"There isn't anything anyone can do for us." 

~oOo~

The cemetery was large, with several stands of shady trees. At this time of year, of course, the trees were mostly bare. Still, they provided some cover. Loki bid farewell to Annie's parents, embracing her mother because she seemed to need it (trying not to reflect that, while he really _did_ have Annie's best interests at heart, her parents seemed entirely too quick to assume as much of him. It was not hard to see where Annie had learned to be too trusting) and then retreated down the footpath. 

When there was no one else in sight, Loki ducked into one of the groves of trees, took a deep breath, and metaphorically reached out for Yggdrasil. 

He emerged in Heimdall's Observatory. The Guardian was not inclined to show surprise under any circumstances, but Loki was peripherally aware that he badly startled the Warriors Three when he materialized in their midst. 

"Norns, Loki, where did you come from?" Fandral demanded, stumbling sideways as Loki appeared at his elbow. 

"You've missed your brother again-- he and your father are in Alfheim," Volstagg boomed cheerfully. "We've just come back from there. You would be proud of Thor, he has been leading the negotiations with-- "

"Peace, Volstagg," Hogun spoke up suddenly. "Loki, what is wrong?"

Fandral had already fallen silent, and the Warriors Three stared at Loki with expressions he could not read. Loki wondered what his own face looked like, was suddenly conscious he was breathing harshly and wringing his hands together. 

They probably thought he had done something dreadful. He half-expected a rush back to Alfheim, to see whether he had killed his brother again. 

There was not time to explain, or at least Loki could not make himself spit it all out right now. He wanted to go home, but before he did so he must make _sure_ … had to _know,_ without any doubt…

"Heimdall," he said, distantly aware his voice was trembling, "I have come to ask a favour of you. Please."

Heimdall's expression was impassive. "Ask."

"I would know-- " Too autocratic. He was not king, nor usurper, nor yet a bully like Owen. Loki took a painful breath and tried again. "I would like to know, please, what happened on the last night of my friend Annie's life. Can you… look?"

"Annie?" echoed Fandral. "Wait, what are you talking about, Loki?"

Loki ignored the question, clenched his jaw and met Heimdall's golden gaze levelly. The Guardian's great voice rumbled out, 

"If you would know of your friend's life, it is best that you ask her."

"I intend to," Loki replied, his voice tight. "But I fear she… Annie sometimes takes blame that is not hers, tells herself she is at fault when she is not. I know this is not the case, but I would like to be able to tell her, with certainty, that it is not. I need your help, Heimdall. Please, will you look?" Not very long ago, Loki would have been unable to imagine pleading with Heimdall for anything. For Annie, it was not so difficult.

Heimdall might have sighed. "There is no need," he said. "I have already done so." Loki must have looked startled, because the Guardian explained, "You were… changed… when you first returned to Asgard. I was curious about these friends of yours, especially her. I wanted to know…" He hesitated. "You are wondering how she died?"

"Yes," Loki whispered, and someone put a hand on his shoulder. He did not look around but it was heavy, like Volstagg's. 

"And you fear there was treachery?" 

"Yes."

The great voice was almost kind as it said, "There was." 

"Owen," Loki said. "He pushed her."

Heimdall paused, as though remembering. "He nearly threw her."

 _"Why?"_ It was a stupid question, really. The thing was done. Why wonder why?

"I do not know," Heimdall admitted. "I could not hear, since they had not invoked me. But I could see. He was holding something, a piece of cloth, and shouting, and when she tried to retreat he caught her at the top of the staircase and… And she fell, and she died."

Loki almost thought the impassive Guardian sounded _sorry._ Loki had never heard Heimdall sound like this, as though he would give much to be able to change what had happened, or make himself able to un-see it. 

"Who is Owen?" Fandral asked, from behind Loki's left shoulder. "Wait, is he not-- did you not speak of him only the other day? The man Annie was to marry, before her death?" Without turning to face him, Loki nodded. "And he _killed_ her?" Fandral demanded, shock and revulsion in his voice. 

"Yes," Loki managed. "She did not remember until now." 

The hand resting on his shoulder tightened, pulled him around, and Loki found himself, glassy-eyed, gazing up into the face of Volstagg. 

"What do you intend to do?" the big warrior asked, with a combination of sternness and understanding. So must he speak to his children when they needed it. Loki blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it. He did not know what he was going to do. He had not thought that far ahead. He had no idea, except that Owen deserved anything, _anything--_

"He is going to find this Owen and kill him," Hogun spoke up flatly. 

"Hogun, that is enough," Fandral snapped, sounding rather desperate, the way Fandral sometimes did when tensions seemed ready to overwhelm the group. Loki had never before thought Fandral might be trying to help him at such a time, but at the moment that seemed to be the case. "Loki has not made any threats toward anyone-- " _yet_ "-- and you should not accuse him-- "

 _"Accuse_ him?" Hogun countered. "I was about to offer to _help_ him." At this point the only one not gaping was Heimdall. Hogun looked around at his friends and demanded, "What? Is it not a despicable act, to murder one so harmless, and who trusted him?" Loki flinched, and without even looking at him Hogun added, "Whatever you did to Thor, he was at least not exactly _helpless,_ and-- if his version of events is to be believed-- you were hardly rational enough to spell your own name when you did it." Loki rather thought the madness had come later, but he chose not to argue as Hogun went on, "Was this Owen insane? And, is he sorry?"

"As far as I can tell, no," Loki admitted. "And no."

"Well, then," Hogun shrugged. "It would be no more than justice."

It was probably fortunate Hogun actually used the word "justice," because the sound of it snapped Loki out of what might have turned into a really dangerous mental spiral. The word reminded him of Steve Rogers, and Loki was quite sure Steve would not approve of any such course of conduct. 

No more did Fandral or Volstagg (which might bear thinking about, later.) The big warrior's hand felt heavier than ever on Loki's shoulder, he actually nearly buckled under its weight, as Volstagg said firmly,

"I am quite sure it would be considered 'murder' rather than 'justice,' and it is best that Loki have no part of it. He came here looking for answers, not an excuse to commit what his new realm would see as a crime."

Which was true-- and an improvement, really, over the time he went looking for answers, and found the excuse as well. 

Loki pulled free from Volstagg and dragged his hands back through his hair. The blind rage had faded, and despite the pounding of his heart he felt a little steadier as he said, 

"And now that I have my answer, I need to see what I can do for Annie. Thank you, Heimdall." He hesitated. "Thank you all."

And he stepped back out onto the World Tree. 

~oOo~

It was quite dark when Loki, under a concealing glamour, slipped between worlds and back onto his street. There was no one out walking, and so Loki let go of the glamour-- gradually, so anyone who chanced to look out a window would be unable to tell when he actually came into view-- and half-jogged to the pink house on the corner.

He was on the front step, reaching for the doorknob, when the door suddenly opened inward and badly startled him. His apparently-looming presence startled the young woman in the doorway as well: she let out a shriek and stepped hastily backward. 

"I beg your pardon," Loki said, flustered, as he backed away from the door. What in the Nine Realms was a strange mortal-- at least he thought she was mortal-- woman doing in their house? And why did she look familiar?

"Sorry, Loki," George called from inside the entryway. A moment later he came into view shrugging into his coat. "I was just going to walk Nina to meet her bus. Nina, you remember my housemate Loki, don't you?"

Loki managed to smile, which was more than Nina did. He now recalled her from the hospital, the day Thor had gone wandering in kitten form. Possibly she remembered Loki as well, as the man who did not take proper care of his pets, because she gave him a rather severe look as she passed him. 

"It is very nice to meet you again," Loki ventured, which was a lie. He was in no condition to take pleasure in the meeting even if Nina had not looked as though she would happily disembowel him.

"Nice to see you, too," Nina replied rather gruffly, sounding like a tiny blond fluffy-haired Sif. A Sif who had not yet become friends with Loki, and never intended to. If he had not been so distressed already he might have let himself worry about that. As it was, it took a rather inspired effort of deceit to maintain a polite social veneer. It crossed his mind to wonder how often his mother had made a similar effort at times when she might have preferred to scream or throw things. 

George came hastily out of the house, and Loki slipped past him through the door. Mitchell was in the kitchen doorway, the kittens peering from behind his legs, all three of them wide-eyed. 

"I can't help it, she scares the pants off me," Mitchell hissed as Loki closed the door behind himself. "I guess she and George went out for something to eat after work and then they arrived here and she keeps _glaring_ at me and I know I shouldn't be scared of her but-- Where's Annie?"

Loki felt a cold jolt through his belly. "Is she not here?"

"She was with you!" Mitchell argued. 

"I know that!" Loki snapped, and then he remembered that Mitchell was not aware of… everything. He took a breath-- not a deep one, he seemed incapable of taking a deep one-- and explained, "We went to look at her grave. We-- I-- encountered her parents, and Annie remembered… how she died."

"She fell on the stairs," Mitchell said, suddenly hesitant.

"She was pushed." _Thrown._ "By Owen. And she left me at the cemetery, and disappeared. I assumed she had come home."

"The door to her room is closed," Mitchell said. "Maybe she's in there." Loki started to turn away and Mitchell caught him by the arm. "You're sure about this?" 

"Her parents are sure," Loki replied. "And I am quite sure she now remembers."

"Shit," Mitchell murmured, raking a hand back through his hair. "Oh, shit."

"That is one way to put it," Loki said, and headed for the stairs. Halfway there, he glanced back. "I am sorry, that was unfeeling. I am just… "

Mitchell flapped his hands. "Go. She needs you."

Loki needed no further urging. 

At the top of the stairs he paused, looking at Annie's door. The housemates were scrupulous about respecting each other's privacy, and generally did not enter each other's rooms except by invitation or for specific purposes, such as dropping off folded laundry. Since Annie did not sleep, her room seemed even more her haven, and Loki avoided disturbing her peace there. 

Now, he was struck with anxiety that his presence would be unwelcome, that she wanted only to be let alone, or wanted only her father and mother, who were lost to her. And what could he say that would not make things worse?

On the other hand… how many times had he hidden himself away behind a locked and bespelled door, and yet wished that someone would know he needed comfort and come looking for him? There was no logic in placing protective wards on his rooms and still wanting someone-- his parents, his brother, his long-lost nursemaid Hildr-- to magically sense his distress and seek him out. Loki had always known it was a contradiction. He had wanted it anyway. 

And one night, after George had been badly injured by vampires, when all of them were thinking about George's injuries and the fate that had almost befallen him… Annie had still come looking for Loki, to ensure he was all right. Loki had not been hurt, only upset and frightened, but she had sought him out and reassured him. 

Loki stepped forward. 

"Annie?" There was no answer, so he tapped gently on the door with his fingertips. "Please, Annie, let me come in." Still no reply. Loki leaned his forehead against the door and laid his left hand flat against the wooden panel. "Please let me know you are there." 

Ordinarily, Loki could sense the nearby presence of another creature, especially any of his friends. Ordinarily, he did not need to ask whether Annie was in a room. But he felt nothing, and between that and the silence he should have thought Annie was not there. No matter how upset she was, Annie did not ignore people calling to her. He should therefore have assumed she was not in her room, but he did not. And that was what frightened him. 

He bit his lip and hoped what he was about to do was not the wrong thing, the disrespectful or hurtful thing. 

Then he said quietly, "I am coming in," and turned the doorknob. 

Annie's bedroom was the largest in the house, the one she had occupied in life, when she and Owen had lived here. There was a fireplace, and a comfortable armchair in addition to the bed and chest of drawers. It was a cozy haven that _felt_ like Annie. 

Ordinarily.

As the door opened, Loki was conscious of a feeling of cold permeating the room. The only illumination was from a streetlight, through the window. Loki slipped inside, closed the door gently behind himself, then stood waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. 

After a moment he could perceive Annie lying on her bed, back to the door, in a miserable defensive curl. As Loki walked toward her he had the terrifying impression that he could actually see the flowered pattern of the duvet right _through_ her. 

She gave no sign of being aware of his presence, and he did not like to speak again lest she think he was hounding her. Instead, he walked softly over to sit on the edge of the bed. After a long silence, Annie spoke.

"I had bought some fancy underwear. I hid it in my chest of drawers. I wanted it to be a surprise for him, I thought he'd… And he found it. He was so angry, he thought I must be, there must be someone else. I couldn't make him listen, he kept shouting at me. We were at the top of the stairs, and he--" She broke off. There was no need to say what had happened next. 

"I am so sorry," Loki said finally. 

"You didn't do anything," Annie said dully. That was not what he meant, and she probably knew it. 

"I know," he whispered. "But no more did you."

"I let him into my life," Annie whispered back. "All of them. I let all of them-- I did this to myself."

"You did not." The last thing she needed was for him to argue with her, as though her own words and perceptions could not be real or true. Loki could not think of anything else to do, so he leaned over, took off his shoes, then lay down beside her, mimicking the angles of her body with his own. When first he came to Bristol, Loki had needed to concentrate to perceive Annie as a physical presence. He no longer needed to do so. 

Ordinarily. Now, as he tried to huddle closer to her, Loki had the disconcerting impression she was somehow… fading. He did not know whether ghosts could simply cease to exist without crossing over, but he had the desperate urge to clutch at her, hold onto her. 

"Annie." She would be sick to death of the sound of her own name, but he could think of no better way to try to focus her attention on him. "Listen to me, Annie. He wanted you to think that, wanted you to think you needed him and could do nothing for yourself. I do not know why he would do such a thing to you, but you need to know, to _believe_ , that he was wrong." Annie did not respond, and Loki slithered an arm underneath her, wrapped them both around her. It was like holding an armful of smoke. 

Loki tried not to think about that, went on speaking. "Owen's opinion counts for nothing. He is a pitiful little creature." _And who would know better? "You,_ on the other hand, have many friends who love and value you. George and Mitchell and I would not know what to do without you. I went to Asgard just now, to speak to Heimdall, and Hogun was ready to come here at once and help me slay Owen for what he did to you. Even _Agent Coulson_ likes and values you. You are _loved,_ Annie, and you _deserve_ to be loved.

"You are also courageous-- were you not the scout for the Avengers, when they rescued all those prisoners from the clutches of Hydra? And it was you who befriended Helblindi, convinced him to trust the intentions of your companions. Remember how Thor asked you to accompany him to speak to Helblindi and Byleistr, to explain the situation and ask their help? He did so because Thor understands the importance of trust, and he knew you held theirs."

"Helblindi knew his people needed help," Annie objected. "That's why he and Byleistr agreed to work with the Avengers."

"That is true, but you are the reason he _trusted_ them," Loki insisted. "Do you remember what Steve said, when he told his story in Asgard? How sure he was that Helblindi stepped in to aid him with the Red Skull _because Steve was your friend?_ Yes, the Jotun would have assisted Asgard, in the hope of having their casket returned to them. I have no doubt they would have provided troops and fought bravely. But for the nearest advisor to the king to personally step in to assist a human? He did that for _you,_ for _your_ friend. You, who assisted the healers with the Jotun wounded, reassuring them among strangers. Annie, there was no one else to fill that role, and its importance to the alliance cannot be underestimated."

There was a long silence. Loki tried to feel the shape of Annie in his arms, thinking, _Please, please stay with us,_ and trying to imagine what else he might say. 

Annie was the one who spoke. 

"Trust-- I keep trusting the wrong people. I'm so _stupid."_

Loki sighed. "Well, now that you say it… it probably was not the wisest response, faced with a stranger in outlandish clothes who fell from the sky and landed on your roof, to invite him into your home and make him a sandwich." 

"Don't," Annie mumbled. 

" _Don't_ what? I have been trying to conquer my own self-centredness, but now it must be said: if you were not here, if you were not the one who found me, my story on this world would have been very different."

"Your father made sure you'd get help," Annie said. Loki did not like to argue with Annie, but the fact she was arguing had to be a hopeful sign. He thought-- surely it was not his imagination-- he could feel her curls tickling against his nose, and that was even more hopeful. Annie went on, "That was the second spell, remember? That the first creatures you met would be able to help you." 

_"If I was able to let them,"_ Loki reminded her. "Father's spell ensured I did not land anywhere I would come to harm, and probably also that I would not fall among any who wished harm on anyone else, either. But it did not take away my free will. The point of the spell was to put me into a situation in which I would be offered succor, but to leave it up to me whether I would accept it."

"Loki, the state you were in-- " Annie protested. 

"I know, I know, you would think I would have run to anyone who offered me sympathy. And perhaps I really would have. But what would have happened afterward? Imagine if I had been found by kindly humans, with their fears and their prejudices as well as their good qualities. I would in all probability still be hiding my Jotun origins, and probably also my magic, in an effort to blend in and not frighten anyone. I would have hidden, and lied, and might never have learned the lesson that _Jotun_ is not _monstrous_ simply by dint of size and form. I had to learn that from beings like George and Mitchell, and I never would have done so if you had not been there when I crashed into your dustbins. 

"And suppose it had not been ordinary humans who found me? Suppose I had landed in the hands of Steve Rogers, or the other Avengers? I, who had done those vicious and contemptible things to the Jotun, to my family? I might have learned to try to do good, to try to make amends for my crimes, but I cannot help believing I would have incessantly compared myself to those who were already heroes-- as I had already compared myself all my life to Thor-- realized once again that I would always fall short, and eventually have given up hope. 

"No. What I really needed was to fall among creatures who were not afraid or suspicious of me simply because I was a strange alien sorcerer. Creatures who could show me that what is perceived as a monster is not necessarily monstrous. Who knew that even if I was red-eyed and blue, what really counted was my _actions_ , my _intentions_ , and who demonstrated this to me until I was able to understand it.

"And none of that would have happened if you had not heard my fall, and had the compassion and the courage-- and also the recklessness-- to take me in, to speak on my behalf to Mitchell and George. It takes tremendous courage to trust the way you do, Annie, and the fact Owen was unworthy of your trust is a flaw in _him_ , not in _you._ Perhaps some of those other troubled young men were made better by knowing you." Annie snorted, and Loki hugged her tighter, relief flowing warmly through his veins at the realization that he _could._ "You cannot know it is not true. I do not say you 'fixed' them, changed them entirely, but you certainly must have influenced one or two of them for the better."

"Not Owen," Annie mumbled. 

"And possibly not Dr. Doom, were you to meet him," Loki agreed. "Perhaps their evil is truly intransigent, but _that is not your fault."_ He stopped himself before he could add, _It would be like blaming the Jotun people for being in the way of the Bifrost._ If Loki was more like Owen than he wanted to admit, that was his burden, and not Annie's to carry for him. "What he did to you was a terrible thing, Annie, but _he_ did it, and _not you_. And the fact _he_ was capable of such evil is no reflection on you, or your worth, or of what you deserve. No part of it was your fault or should burden you. Please, Annie, believe me."

Annie was silent for another long moment. And then she turned over in his arms and wrapped her own around him. 

"What I don't deserve is _you,"_ she murmured into his chest. 

"That is true," Loki agreed. "But until we find someone who is good enough for you, I would be very glad if you would accept me in his place."

Annie giggled weakly and snuggled into him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** This chapter includes at least one comment taken directly from the show, but for the most part it's me playing around with plot points from canon. Also a little retcon: especially for the anon(s) on other sites who have recently begun bringing up this point from **Monsters** , an explanation of how Loki passed his criminal records check to work at the school. I hope this will settle the matter. 
> 
> **Warning:** Loki's moral compass is not as wonky as it used to be, but it's still pretty dodgy.

As she opened her eyes, Annie became aware of her cheek and nose pressed against something warm and yielding. And blue. Dark blue. 

It took a moment for her to recognize Loki's pullover, and realize she had fallen asleep practically burrowed into his chest. 

It took her a moment after that to realize-- she had _fallen asleep._ And had apparently slept through the night, judging by the soft dawn light that was beginning to stream through the windows. It was the first night's sleep she had had in three years. 

It was the first time she had slept since the night before she died. 

It wasn't that Annie _couldn't_ sleep, she just didn't _need_ to. Mitchell sometimes told her she should anyway, that it might be good for her-- Mitchell, who was dead too, maintained the habit as well as he could-- but she didn't want to. She was afraid of… what dreams may come.

Really, the worst thing about going to school in England-- or maybe just in English-- was all the Shakespeare. Not that Annie had anything against Shakespeare in general. In fact, she liked bits of it quite a lot, and she sometimes thought she and the boys were being somehow derelict in their duty as English-speaking people by not making sure Loki was properly introduced. 

But the bits that stuck in your mind weren't always the ones you wanted, and she remembered just enough of _Hamlet_ to be afraid of the kind of dreams dead people might have. And now, after all that, it turned out-- at least based on the evidence of last night-- she didn't dream at all. 

She shifted a little and realized she and Loki were covered by the flowered quilt from the foot of his bed. Annie didn't remember Loki summoning it, and she thought she'd felt him fall asleep shortly before she had. So how the quilt got here was a little mystery to be solved later. 

Well, she was awake now, and if she didn't get up soon she'd probably end up waking Loki, too. As a ghost, of course, it was quite easy to extricate herself and materialize beside the bed. She stood for a moment, looking down at Loki, who shifted a little toward her side of the bed as if he was looking for her. She pulled the quilt up around his shoulders, ruffled her fingers gently through his hair, and zapped herself out of the room into the hallway. 

Philip and Elizabeth were sitting outside the door, looking very offended. As well they might, since as far as they were concerned Loki was supposed to be their very own personal bed-warmer, and they loudly complained that they had not slept a wink all night. 

"Of course you didn't, you spoiled brats," Annie whispered, feeling a fleeting but powerful urge to giggle. The kittens glared at her, and Annie relented. "Don't wake him up," she warned. Which was a forlorn hope at best, but after all, Philip and Elizabeth had put a lot of effort into training Loki. Surely they should get the benefit of all that work. 

She opened the door a crack. Philip and Elizabeth scampered into the room and up onto the bed next to the pillows, where they disappeared under the quilt. Loki curled up a little more but didn't wake, so she left the door ajar and went downstairs to see who else was up. 

Mitchell was at the kitchen table, eating toast and jam. At the sight of her he offered a tentative smile. "How are you this morning?"

"Better," Annie replied. 

"How much better?" Mitchell insisted gently, and Annie gamely offered a smile of her own. 

"Enough to be going on with. Is George still asleep?"

Mitchell went along with the change of subject.

"Wouldn't be surprised. He didn't come home last night." When Annie's expression changed to one of alarm, Mitchell held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot you didn't know-- he brought Nina round last evening. And then he went off to 'walk her to her bus' and hasn't been heard from since." 

Annie paused in the act of walking over to the teapot on the stovetop. "Really? Well done, George."

"That's what I thought," Mitchell giggled, and then sobered. "I'm sorry I didn't check on you, Annie. I didn't even realize you had come home until Loki arrived back without you."

"I didn't really want to talk to anyone right then," Annie admitted, carrying her mug of tea over to the table and sitting across from Mitchell. "Although… it was probably good Loki showed up when he did. He… helped."

"I thought he might have," Mitchell said. "When I looked in on you later, you were both asleep. Was that--?" 

"Yes. First time since I died. Were you the one who covered us up?"

Mitchell wriggled. "Um, yeah. I went and found the kittens a jumper out of Loki's laundry basket to sleep on, so they wouldn’t be yelling at the door, and then I thought you might get cold, so…"

Annie gave him a genuine smile. "You're such a softy." She stirred her steaming tea and added a few drops of milk. "You know, it's… not funny, exactly, but… I was just remembering the day Loki arrived. I left him on the sofa while I went to put those clothes from the dustbin into the washing machine. When I came back up to the lounge, he had fallen asleep. He was kind of curled up the way he does, only he seemed all … sort of flattened out." She hesitated. "And for a minute, I thought he'd died and passed on while I was out of the room. I actually had to go over and look to make sure he was breathing. I'd never seen anyone look that tired before. I didn't think it was possible to _be_ that tired. I wondered what had happened, for him to feel that way. And then afterward, remember what he was like for the first few days? Like… like he had lost everything that mattered, and he didn't know if he would ever find anything to replace it with?"

"Yeah," Mitchell replied. "I remember that. He was like a sleepwalker. And then he followed you around for a couple of weeks, and then he started to come out of it. Why?"

Annie turned her mug carefully, where it sat before her on the table. "I think… I think I know how he felt. I think that's the way I felt, last night. After what happened at the cemetery-- " She fell silent.

"Yes, about that," Mitchell said, when it became clear Annie wasn't going to continue without a push. "What exactly did happen? Loki didn't stop to explain before he went looking for you. He just said you went to look at your grave, and you ran into your parents."

"Yes," she said. "Loki was just putting some flowers on my grave when my parents walked up. By the time we noticed them they had already seen him, so Loki pretended to be someone I knew before I… when I was alive… and my parents talked to him." She turned the mug again. "They spoke to the police after I died, you know. They talked to _Herrick._ "

"Christ," murmured Mitchell. Upstairs, they heard the creak of a floorboard, and then water running in the bathroom. Annie looked up briefly, toward the ceiling, before resuming her story. 

"And they told Loki about everything that worried them about Owen. They had been worried for a long time, I think. They said I told them I was all right, but I don't remember them asking. They said… the boys I went out with, there was something wrong with all of them, that I wouldn't talk to them, I didn't trust them-- "

Loki, his hair damp at his temples, walked into the kitchen just as the mug of tea in front of Annie exploded. 

Mitchell let out a startled yelp and scrambled to his feet just as his own mug blew up, and then his plate of toast hurled itself across the kitchen to shatter on the wall behind the stove. Loki darted forward, and at the same time there was a scampering movement down on the floor that indicated the kittens had probably been following Loki and had retreated into the lounge to hide under the sofa. 

"What is it?" Loki began, and the jam jar and the margarine tub leaped up from the table and sailed toward his head. Loki deflected them with a hasty bolt of magic and dropped into the chair beside Annie's, reaching for her hands. "Annie! Please look at me."

"What's happening?" Annie nearly shrieked, as a series of tumblers threw themselves from the open cupboard to the left of the sink and shattered on the countertop, then the pink spray bottle and the washing-up liquid spewed their contents over the broken glass. 

Loki got a firm grip on Annie's hands and tried to turn her toward him. "Annie. Look at me." 

All the cupboard doors, and those of the refrigerator and stove banged open--

\-- And then Annie had turned toward Loki and was clinging to his hands, her eyes wide and frightened, and everything went quiet. 

"You are all right," Loki said firmly, folding both of her hands into his so he could pet them reassuringly. 

"I don't understand what just happened," she said breathlessly. "Was that-- was that _me?"_

"Seems so," Mitchell replied shakily. At a really savage glare from Loki, Mitchell threw up his hands. "Well, it wasn't you, was it, Loki? And I'm pretty sure it wasn't me."

"It can't have been me!" Annie protested, tears welling into her eyes. Loki edged his chair closer to hers. 

"Did you feel anything while it was happening?" he asked. His tone was a combination of reassurance and clinical interest, rather like a sympathetic doctor asking someone dear to him to describe her alarming symptoms. Annie took a deep breath, and her hands became steadier in his. 

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't think so. I was just telling Mitchell about… about what my parents said to you. About… them worrying about me, and me not trusting them, and--"

The clock to the right of the kitchen doorway jerked free of the wall and sailed toward them. Loki released Annie's hands, calmly lifted his right in a warding-off gesture, and at the same time used his left to pull Annie toward him so he could use his body to shield her from the flying timepiece. Mitchell ducked and covered as well.

The clock apparently ran into a pulse of magic heading the other way, hesitated in midair, and then retreated meekly back to its hook on the wall. When Annie and Mitchell sat up, they found Loki looking thoughtful. 

"That is very interesting: did you notice how easily I was able to redirect the clock?"

"Very impressive," Mitchell said, past a dry throat and not nearly as sarcastically as he might have wished. 

Loki glanced at him, one eyebrow arched in mild rebuke. "I was not boasting," he assured his friend. "Rather, I was pointing out the fact there seemed to be no enchantment propelling the clock toward any particular target."

"Of course there wasn't!" Annie protested. "I wouldn't throw _jars_ and _clocks_ at you or Mitchell!"

"I apologize," Loki said, hugging her. "I did not mean you did anything deliberately. I am simply trying to understand the sorcery involved in this incident. It appears that once the object is broken or… _thrown_ seems to be the best word… At any rate, once the initial impetus is applied, it feels as though no other forces are present. The spell literally throws things and breaks things, but does nothing to prevent us protecting ourselves from its activity."

"Poltergeist," Mitchell said. 

Loki raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Is that not what one says when someone sneezes?"

"No," Mitchell replied, managing to smile. "You're thinking of _gesundheit._ What I said was _poltergeist_. They're both German words, but a poltergeist is a specific type of ghost that, well, pretty much behaves just like we saw right now."

Annie's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying _I'm_ a poltergeist?" 

Mitchell raised his hands defensively and hedged, "Not if it means you're going to throw something else at me." Annie picked a paper napkin out of the holder on the table and threw that at him. Mitchell smiled at her. "You got pretty upset when you were talking about what happened yesterday. And you've had a really terrible shock. Maybe that's what's happened, you're just… expressing it through these powers."

"That makes sense," Loki said, turning to Annie for her response. 

"I've been upset before," Annie protested, looking at both of them. "I was _really_ upset during that whole mess with Hydra and the Dire Wraiths. And when we found out what they did to you," she addressed Loki. "Why wouldn’t I have gone all poltergeisty then?"

Loki turned his hands palms-up. "I have no idea. The only thing I can suggest is, you did not have to face those other fears alone."

"You were there," Annie said softly. 

"Yes, but there was little I could do to help," Loki pointed out, equally softly. "These burdens were entirely your own."

"But I was all right, later," Annie protested. "After you talked to me, after we talked to each other. I felt so much better."

Loki smiled. "Feel free to throw something at me, when you lose patience with the way I keep referring back to my own experiences, but they are what I have to offer. And I know I am not one of your Midgardian doctors whose role it is to reduce the size of the burdens on one's heart and mind, so that they might be carried more easily-- "

"Pardon?" Mitchell blurted. 

Loki blinked. "Is that not the correct term? _Shrink?_ I feel sure I have heard it used in this context."

Annie giggled nervously, and Mitchell said, "I'm not sure that's where the term came from, but I think I like your definition. Sorry for interrupting. Go on." 

Loki did, turning back to Annie. "You recall when Heimdall rescued us from the vampires, and brought us to Asgard that first time? When my father told me he really did love me and always had, and we embraced each other?" Annie nodded. "I, too, felt so much better after that happened. It helped a great deal. But it did not mean all the painful feelings were suddenly gone, never to return. They _still_ come back sometimes, even though I am happier now than I have ever been in my life." He did not add that, sometimes, the fact he _was_ happier than he had ever been was the thing that caused the painful feelings of grief and shame. It was not pleasant to reflect that all the happiness he now possessed was the more-or-less direct result of his madness, and the terrible crimes he had committed against innocents. 

Brushing the thought aside for some future night when sleep was evasive, Loki went on, "Yesterday, you did not simply remember the dreadful event that ended your life. You also remembered the pain, and fear, and all the other unhappy emotions that must have been your companions for… years, probably. And as a mortal, you were not very many years old, so those were certainly a significant portion of your life. Your memory sought to protect you from the memories-- " as his own had protected him for so long from the memory of why he had ruined Sif's hair "-- and so it seems likely that when they finally got free, you were nearly overwhelmed by them."

Mitchell and Annie looked at each other. "That makes sense," Mitchell admitted, looking-- to Loki's eyes-- surprised.

"I am, occasionally, able to make sense," Loki replied drily. Mitchell made a face implying that, were the pink spray bottle not emptied of its contents, Loki would be looking forward to quite a faceful. The spray bottle being out of play for the moment, Loki returned his attention back to Annie. 

She was looking rather horrified. "Are you saying that I'm going to _keep doing_ this kind of thing?"

"Possibly, at least for a while. But I am sure you will learn to control it," Loki assured her hastily. 

Unexpectedly, Annie brightened. "Do you suppose I'd be able to move that stove? I've been dying to clean behind it."

It took the other two a moment to realize, with relief, she was mostly teasing them, trying to make them laugh and lighten the mood. 

"I would be glad to assist you, if you really wish it," Loki assured her, smiling. 

"That would be nice. You being a professional, after all," Annie said. Loki took her hand again. 

"Any aid you might require," he assured her. 

Mitchell looked around at the mess of toast, jam, and shattered glass littering the kitchen and remarked, 

"Well, you might start with this lot."

And just at that, with impeccable timing, George walked through the kitchen doorway. Stopped dead. 

Looked around at the mess.

And, on a high note, demanded,

"What on _earth_ is going on here?"

~oOo~

Annie, Loki, and Mitchell tried to catch George up on everything Annie had learned the day before, but when they got to the part where they described her parents' thoughts and reactions, a potted plant and the kittens' water dish went flying. Loki was able to save both, but the four friends agreed their safest course was probably to tell the story outside the house. 

Accordingly, after George had breakfast and a bath, and Loki had reassured the kittens and cleaned up the mess-- he generally made a point to complete his chores without resorting to magic, but surely this was a special occasion-- they got in the car and drove out to visit Scamp. The little dog's delight at their arrival seemed to cheer even Annie, and she and George and Loki spent half an hour or so petting Scamp and throwing the plastic ball for her to chase. Mitchell, waiting at a safe distance from the gate, seemed to share the general amusement at Scamp's antics.

Eventually, Scamp decided she was tired of the game and carried her ball to Annie and Loki, where she lay down in easy petting range. George joined Mitchell outside the gate and they all sat down on what amounted to blankets of magic Loki had cast to prevent chills and damp trousers among the purely corporeal members of the party. 

"All right," George said finally. "What happened?"

Annie repeated as much of the story as she had managed to tell Mitchell before the magical outbreak. Like the others, George was chilled at the thought of Annie's mother and father innocently consulting Herrick in his guise as a police officer. 

"I can't imagine he cared, one way or the other, what Owen did," George muttered. 

"No, but he would have followed up if there was concrete evidence," Mitchell said, with a mixture of distaste and scrupulous fairness. "Aside from the whole business of being a murderous vampire, he was actually a pretty good copper. He had to be, to keep his cover safe so he could hide the tracks of other supernaturals -- like that criminal records check I asked him to fake up for Loki, when he applied to work at the school."

Loki grimaced, distracted. He had been grateful to Mitchell, who of course was maintaining an identity as a young human man working in a hospital, for using his vampire connections to procure the documents he had needed in order to create such a "cover" and pay taxes as a human. He had not asked for details, and had later been uncomfortable at the idea of being indebted to Herrick, who of course had quickly discovered Loki was not some human Mitchell picked up for reasons of his own. 

It was fortunate indeed that Herrick had died again before his plans for enslaving the humans had included blackmailing Loki on that point, as they surely would have done before very long. 

This being old business, the four friends went on to the matter of the suspicions and fears Annie's parents had entertained concerning Owen and his treatment of Annie. 

Mitchell stopped her at this point, in need of clarification.

"You said that you don't remember them ever asking if you were okay," he prompted. 

Annie shook her head. "I don't. I suppose they must have, if they remember it, but I don't."

Recalling that this was the point at which Annie had uttered her words of self-recrimination and vanished, Loki spoke up. 

"They also spoke of their anxieties about your previous… attachments." The word was a compromise, because he could never seem to utter the Midgardian "boyfriend" without feeling ridiculous. But since it was also the word he used, in his own mind, to describe his bond with Annie, he also disliked using it in this context. 

That being neither here nor there at the moment, Loki said carefully, "They seemed concerned that you… that you seemed to deliberately choose the company of those who were… who were in some way damaged, or lacking. Who needed help." 

Who, of course, included Loki. He had assumed, when Annie took him in, that she did not fear him because she knew he could not harm a spirit such as herself. Longer acquaintance had persuaded him that, even had Annie been alive when they met, she would have come to his rescue anyway, because that was what Annie did. It was perhaps a sign of his own progress, that he could believe her current feelings toward him were of more than simple compassion or even pity. 

Shaking off the thought, Loki went on, "Your father expressed the fear that… you might believe… you might not have understood… you deserve better than such, such broken creatures."

_Lying in a battered tangle among the overturned dustbins, trying to catch his breath, trying to make his limbs obey him, confused and sore in body and soul, and waiting without hope to see what would hurt him next. And then the sounds of the door opening, of running feet, and a consoling touch on his shoulder as a concerned voice asked, "Are you all right?"_

"He said that?" Annie asked slowly. 

The red ball, and several fallen branches, suddenly flew across the churchyard. Scamp sprang to her feet. Apparently unable to determine which of these objects she should pursue, the little dog first ran after her ball, then scrupulously retrieved the sticks as well, laying them one by one Annie's feet.

"Good girl," Annie quavered, reaching down to pat the little dog. It took her a moment to look up at her friends. Loki met her eyes as squarely as he could.

"Annie," he said gently, "I am beginning to think this poltergeist business is not entirely about Owen." When Annie bridled visibly, Loki raised his hands in a peacemaking gesture. "It is for you to think about, if you wish. Just know that I am here if you need to speak of anything, and nothing would make me happier than to make return on the understanding you have always shown me. All right?"

"All right," Annie murmured. Loki lowered his hands, and then put an arm around her shoulders. To his relief, Annie moved a little closer to him, as though comforted. 

"I think we do have to talk about Owen, though," George said uneasily. "He still owns the house. We've asked him to do something about the boiler-- "

"Bother the boiler," Loki snapped, barely restraining himself from uttering a more pungent expression he was absolutely not permitted to use at school. Had he any understanding of the mechanical principles involved, he would have magically repaired the boiler long ago, and none of this would have had to happen. 

"I just mean, he's going to be around," George said peaceably. "We can't stop him."

"Oh we can't, can we?" Annie snapped, her eyes flashing as she stiffened under Loki's arm. It did his heart good, to see her angry instead of looking so small and defeated. "We'll see about that."

"I think," Mitchell said, "that you really need to think about how you want to deal with Owen." 

"Deal with him?" Annie repeated. Her eyes went suddenly to Loki's. 

"Hogun's offer was in earnest," he said evenly. "And would be no more than Owen deserves. I would have no qualms, either, if that would bring you peace."

Loki was a skilled and talented liar, but that did not mean every word he uttered was a lie. It would be pointless, for one thing: if everyone knows you lie all the time, the tactical advantage of being a convincing liar is fatally undermined. 

Loki's falsehoods were, of course, not always strategic. When he was frightened, he often lied without even thinking about it, as though defending himself from who-knew-what. It was, therefore, a sort of pledge of trust with Annie, that he did not lie to her. 

Most of the time. At a moment like this, the lie seemed necessary. Volstagg had been quite correct, that the local authorities would consider it murder instead of justice if Loki was to make an end of Owen. Such an action would be a violation of the social contract, and a poor repayment indeed for the refuge had had been given here-- refuge which had recently been rendered official, including pardon for his earlier self-protective lies, after his participation in the defeat of Hydra and the Dire Wraiths. He owed the realm better than to flout its laws in such a manner, and he was acutely aware of it.

Besides, Loki was no longer so far gone that he could tranquilly contemplate undertaking the death of anyone, even such human vermin as Owen, and especially not in cold blood. 

He would have qualms aplenty, and guilt afterward, but if Annie asked it of him, if that was the payment that would give her peace, Loki would do it and live with the consequences afterward. His debt to the realm was and always would be secondary to that owed to Annie, George, and Mitchell. 

And speaking of George and Mitchell, the two of them knew Loki nearly as well as Annie did. 

"Hang on a minute," Mitchell spoke up hastily. "Loki, you're not saying what I think you're saying, are you? Because that's not what I meant, at all."

"And besides," George added, practically, "the last thing we need is Owen haunting the house, too."

Loki blinked, and Annie flinched at the very notion. 

"I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. And then she shook herself. "And anyway… no. That was a crazy idea, and I didn't mean it. I wouldn't ask it of you. I don't know what I want of Owen, but I don't want anyone to murder him. We're better than that." 

Loki tightened his arm around her, relieved in spite of himself. "You sound exactly like Steve Rogers when you speak like that." 

Annie patted his knee. "That's got to be a good thing, right?" She frowned in thought. "I don't want Owen to die. I want him to… feel sorry for what he did. I want him to know it was wrong, and… and regret it." 

"Do you think that's even possible?" George asked.

Annie looked uncertain, and in the space left by her silence, Loki spoke up. 

"Stranger things have happened." _And worse villains repented._ "We can but try."

"Right," George murmured. Not even Mitchell looked optimistic.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** I do apologize for this chapter feeling a little bit flaily: I was trying to get us to where we'll be in the _next_ chapter and this one turned into sort of a detour, but we're back on track now and I've got a handle on where we need to go next. I also apologize for Loki kind of hijacking the proceedings again. There's something he's been needing to do, and since it ended up happening in this chapter I've decided to just go with it. Thanks to everyone who's reading for your patience!

After the revelations of the morning, Loki found himself quite incapable of the sort of fine-tuned concentration he would need to scan for bones. With apologies to Scamp for the delay, he accompanied his friends back to the car, and they drove home. 

George walked into the house, glanced at the clock, and uttered an exclamation. "Is that the time? I'm going to be late!"

"Late for what?" Mitchell asked in confusion. Loki and Annie were similarly bewildered: ordinarily, a Sunday afternoon when none of the housemates were compelled to go to work was a quiet one, perhaps occupied with household chores or television. These activities were perhaps a little boring, but Loki for one generally appreciated that, since there was no telling when something would occur to throw them all into deadly peril once again. There had certainly been many times since his arrival on Midgard when he had thought longingly about sprawling on the sofa, half-asleep, while a football match muttered away unnoticed at the edge of his consciousness. 

George flushed crimson, and all the housemates perked up, like Philip and Elizabeth scenting a catnip mouse. "Nina and I are going… there's a film we'd like to see…"

"Really? Which one?" Mitchell asked brightly. "Maybe Annie and Loki and I could join-- God, George, _breathe,_ I'm only kidding you!"

Loki breathed as well: as much as he enjoyed going to the cinema himself, he had developed a reasonable sense of when he would legitimately not be wanted, and this was certainly one of those times. For a moment he had really feared Mitchell was serious. It did cross his mind to wonder whether there was anything behind Mitchell's banter besides simple teasing-- he and George had been so close for so long-- but the vampire's amusement seemed genuine, and entirely without sharp edges. 

George uttered a sound partway between a snarl and a whine, and dashed up to his room to change his clothes. Moments later, he clattered down the stairs again. 

"Take the car," Mitchell called after him, an obvious peace offering, and George managed a smile as he took the keys and let himself out the door. Mitchell certainly did not look bereft, to watch his constant companion rush off without him, but Loki found himself carefully ensuring his gaze included the vampire as he looked around and asked, 

"Has anyone else plans for the afternoon?" It was a silly question, but Annie forbore to laugh at him. She made a rueful face. 

"I'm planning to keep very calm for the rest of the day, I think," she announced. 

"I sense _Pride and Prejudice_ in our very near future," Mitchell glowered, and was rewarded when Annie giggled. 

"Do you know, I think it might be a wise idea to explore these new powers of yours a little," Loki spoke up. Both Annie and Mitchell looked at him in surprise, and Loki explained, "Since you have them, it seems best that you learn to control them."

"But they just popped up sort of randomly-- surely they'll go away again soon?" Annie asked uneasily. 

"I am sure my nursemaids thought the same thing, when I first began to move things around the nursery, and change myself into the shapes of creatures that caught my fancy," Loki said. Annie burst into a welcome peal of her wonderfully infectious laughter.

"Oh Loki, really?"

"Apparently. I am told that the first time I was taken to the kennels, with Thor-- I was hardly toddling, so I do not remember this-- one of the hounds rushed up to greet us and I immediately turned myself into a puppy. I suppose it was the same instinct that made me shapeshift when Father picked me up, although of course only he and Mother would have realized that at the time." Loki smiled as he thought about it. "I understand Thor was delighted with my new form. I have the impression he was rather disappointed when I finally shifted back. We will not remind him of that," Loki added hastily. 

"Of course not," Annie agreed. "I never thought about what it must have been like, to have powers like yours when you were little. You must have scared yourself sometimes?" The words tilted up into a question. 

"Not that I remember," Loki replied, thinking about it. "I think it must have been very much like learning to walk, or to speak. Magic is part of me in the same way those other abilities are. I might have startled myself sometimes, and I did have to learn to use magic effectively, to control and strengthen it, but at a certain level it was simply there for me to use, in the same way I that learned to stretch out my hand and pick up a toy." 

"I don't think it's the same for me," Annie said uneasily. 

"Not exactly, perhaps," Loki admitted. "Since these abilities are not inborn to you, and you are only just getting to know them."

"Might be like learning to dance, though," Mitchell contributed. "You just need to learn the steps, and to follow the music, and all that."

"That is a very good analogy," Loki said thoughtfully. 

"I'm a terrible dancer, though," Annie objected. 

"Do not even try that on with me," Loki said firmly, sounding to his own ears almost local. "I was not _that_ drunk, those nights in the tavern at Asgard, to be unable to remember your dancing." He thought about it. "I am sure you can learn to command your powers, if you are willing to practice. And I should be able to use my own, to help ensure nothing is broken or damaged while you learn to control them. Would that reassure you?" 

"I suppose," Annie said reluctantly. 

"I do realize that it is a daunting prospect, with these abilities so new to you," Loki said apologetically. "And also that it is an easy thing for me to suggest you do. If there was anything I could do, to learn along with you and make matters more equal, I would do it."

Annie looked thoughtful. "There is, actually."

Startled but willing, Loki said at once, "Name it."

He should perhaps have stopped to think about the offer before speaking, but it was not as though he would have refused her anything. Annie looked apologetic in her turn, but determined, as she said,

"It's only-- you should be able to control your Jotun form. It's you, too. You should be able to call it out when you want to, without needing to go find Helblindi or someone to touch you." Loki was silent, and it was apparent from Annie's expression that she knew what she was asking of him. Who was to say Loki would ever _want_ to transform himself thus? 

But… it was certainly a sort of power with which he was uncomfortable, and he had pledged--

"All right," Loki said finally. "I will try to help you learn about your powers, and… and you will try not to be alarmed when I transform into my other form." That was a silly remark, and both of them knew it: _Annie_ was not the one whose fear and distaste for the Jotun form was so deeply ingrained from childhood that, despite experience and common sense, it had not yet completely gone away. 

"Of course I won't be," Annie said gently. "Or Mitchell, either." Mitchell, who of course thought of the Jotnar as Helblindi and Byleistr, and the soldiers who had come to their assistance against the Dire Wraiths, nodded confidently. Loki knew all these things as well, and he tried, truly, to think of them that way too. As long as Helblindi's was the face he called into his mind when he let himself think of the Jotnar, he did fairly well. 

But still--

"Shall I go first?" he asked, partly as a gesture of good faith and partly to prevent himself losing his nerve. Annie smiled encouragingly and, wondering how she had managed to turn this back onto himself again, Loki looked down at his hands. How in the Nine was he to effect such a transformation, when he had never done so of his own volition before? This was not an ordinary shapeshift, with Loki imagining the shape he wished to take on and wrapping himself in magic to do so. This was… this was calling out something concealed within himself, something that _was_ himself, as much as the pale-skinned form he had always inhabited and believed to be _Loki._

What had it felt like, when last he had done it? He remembered old Helblindi extending his great hand, remembered his own as small as a child's in it. 

A child's…He remembered taking the hand of the little Jotun boy, as they walked up the approach to the palace, the fingers that closed around his about as large as George's, but with the same vulnerable, half-formed softness as any child's anywhere--

The sensation of… not cold, not quite. Coolness, not on his skin but _inside_ his hand, sweeping up his arm, spreading up toward the surface as it engulfed his body… 

Loki closed his eyes, and remembered, and concentrated. This time, the chill seemed to originate just below his diaphragm, radiating outward as well as up and down his body. He let his head tilt backward, wiggled his fingers and toes, felt the sensation spread into his extremities and tingle through his scalp, noticed when the sense of coolness disappeared, leaving behind the impression the room was too warm. 

"Loki," Annie said softly. She did not sound frightened. Loki knew Annie very well, knew what she sounded like when she was trying to be brave, and this was not the way. This was simply Annie, asking for his attention.

He opened his eyes. 

The lounge was not only too warm, but too dimly lit. The Jotnar were adapted to living in a realm of ice and snow, and their eyes structured to filter out the glare that resulted when the sun shone down upon them. For a generation, for Loki's lifetime, since the war and the loss of the Casket of Ancient Winters, their realm had been cloaked in darkness. For the first time, Loki had the presence of mind to imagine how difficult that must have been, for beings whose eyes were designed to protect them from too _much_ light. A generation was not long enough for eyes to evolve and change, and Loki imagined the anxiety of being unable to ever see properly. 

When he had goaded Thor into that ill-fated trip to Jotunheim, when they had confronted Laufey and his guard, those soldiers had been fighting in the dark, at a terrible disadvantage. He wondered whether Thor, on his recent trip to the realm now once again bathed in sunlight, had thought of this already. 

Close on the heels of his realization about the light came the awareness that his clothes felt too small. Loki was tall but slender, and had always been bitterly aware that his shoulders were narrower and his bones smaller than was normal for an Aesir of a similar height. Since discovering that his accustomed form was the result of magic rather than inheritance, he sometimes wondered exactly what input it had used, and at what point his adult form had been set for him beyond changing. 

All of which was no longer here nor there anymore, but the point was, Loki had found that clothing suitable for a human of his height was often intended for someone rather larger around than he was. At the moment he was wearing jeans and two layers of shirts, all of them fairly loose-fitting. Or at any rate they had been when he put them on. He looked down at himself, forced himself to look at the strange blue hands, with their dusky nails, emerging from the cuffs of his long-sleeved grey t-shirt, and then up at Annie and Mitchell, sitting together on the sofa looking fascinated.

"Am I incorrect in my impression," he winced a little at the strange new rumbling timbre in his voice, "that I am somehow grown _larger?"_

"You are," Mitchell agreed at once. "You totally are. Two or three inches taller, at least, and quite a bit bigger around-- here, let me check." Mitchell started to spring to his feet, but Annie forestalled him, rising and walking up to stand directly in front of Loki, as though she would embrace him.

And then she _did,_ wrapping her arms around his torso and craning her neck to look up at him. Loki was nearly a head taller than Annie, but it was now apparent to both of them his current height was significantly more than that: he would need to lean down to rest his chin on her head, were either of them inclined for him to do such a thing. 

Annie reached up to run a fingertip gently along the line of his cheekbone, and Loki felt it as a strangely over-sensitive, almost tickling sensation. He suddenly realized she was tracing one of the raised lines that marked his Jotun face, and flinched in surprise. Annie took her hand away, and then he found himself a little bereft at the loss of the sensation.

"I do not understand what has just happened," Loki admitted in his altered voice. "Previously, my form changed but my _size_ did not. I do not see how-- "

"Speaking of seeing," Annie interrupted to ask him, "have you ever actually _seen_ yourself as a Jotun?"

Loki swallowed hard, shook his head. Of course he had not. He had let the form emerge when he made use of the Casket for his villainy, and when he had needed to explain himself to Helblindi and Byleistr, but he had certainly not wanted to _look_ at himself like this. 

In fairness, mind, there had also never been a mirror conveniently to hand when he had so transformed.

"Right," Annie said decidedly. "Well, you need to see this. Come with me." She took his hand, gripping it firmly-- of course he could not hurt her in this form, Annie could not be harmed by this sort of touch-- and led him toward the staircase. He obediently followed her, up the cramped stairs and down the narrow little hallway, up and down the odd little steps that suddenly made the hallway treacherous for his much-larger feet-- it was fortunate indeed that his shoes had been muddy and he removed them at the door-- until they came to the bathroom. Annie switched on the light and Loki followed her in.

"Look," Annie said, almost an order, and Loki obediently did, leaning down to see properly. 

The creature that looked back at him from the mirror was… well, the incongruity was almost comical, the Jotun face and neck emerging from the round neck of a dark blue t-shirt that emphasized the cool strange blue of his skin. The Jotun in the mirror was nearly hairless, in the manner of his kind-- surely Annie had made mention, before, of Loki retaining his hair?-- and the crimson lines marking his face reminded Loki of images he had seen on the television, of the Maori people of New Zealand. The Maori, of course, wore tattoos, or some sort of created marking. These were clearly formed by nature, since obviously Loki had not done anything in the way of decorating himself in this shape.

He reached up carefully and ran his own fingertip along one of the raised lines that followed his cheekbone. The sensation was not the same as when Annie touched him, and Loki remembered that one could not tickle oneself, either. 

His shirt was stretched tight across his chest in a most unaccustomed manner-- even with clothing that fit him properly, Loki was not much inclined toward wearing anything tight, since all that could do was emphasize his scrawniness. The new breadth of his torso, and the powerful-looking neck rising from it, was almost more disconcerting than the blue skin. 

He leaned closer, feeling nothing now but curiosity, and studied himself. He was not a particularly dark shade of blue, but the tones were deep, almost gem-like, contrasting vibrantly with his raised markings and ruby eyes. 

He took a step backward and, quite suddenly, the image before him resolved into his own face looking back at him, his own features underneath the new skin. That was startling, yet reassuring, almost as though this form was only heavy makeup, such as was used in films. A costume, an outward appearance, with Loki himself still there underneath. 

"I do not really feel any different," he remarked. "Physically, yes, but… " But changing his shape always brought awareness of the instincts and inclinations of the form he was wearing, always meant he had to be conscious to control them. If, for instance, he took on an otter's form to search for Excalibur on the bed of a lake, he had to ensure the otter was not distracted into chasing bright little fishes for his lunch. 

Loki had worn a Jotun shape before, when he raged at his father, when he attacked Heimdall. But he had been in Aesir form when he sent the Destroyer to Midgard, when he goaded his brother, when he turned the Bifrost on Jotunheim. Even harrying his stricken father, as Odin succumbed to his Sleep, Loki had been wearing his Aesir face. 

He had committed vile acts as a Jotun, certainly, but you could not say it was the fault of the _form._

"You never acted any different, either," Annie said now. "I mean, when you transformed in Asgard, and Helblindi got so upset thinking about your mother, you were kind to him. And you were sweet with those little Jotun kids, just like you are with the ones at your school." 

Loki caught Annie's eye in the mirror and smiled gratefully, then continued to examine the blue face before him. He tried to remember Laufey's features as he studied his own, tried to recall their harsh lines. There was something in common, surely, in the sharp chin and thin lips, but he was certain Laufey's eyes had been deeper-set, more hooded. Loki frowned, noted absently that the blue face looked merely thoughtful, not frightening. 

"What is it?" Annie asked, apparently able to read Loki as easily in this form as his Aesir one. 

"I am just wondering what my mother looked like," Loki admitted. "Whether Helblindi would see her in me, now."

Annie laid a hand on the small of his back-- not so small now, of course-- and rubbed him affectionately. "I'm sure he would." Annie did not normally lie to Loki, but under the circumstances he knew she would not hesitate to tell him what she felt he needed to hear. He did not resent this, and he wanted very much to believe her. 

Loki rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, and from the doorway Mitchell commented, "We should probably get you some special size-huge clothing for the next time you take on that shape. I think you might be bigger than Thor." Giggling, the vampire added, "Which is _awesome."_

"I'd like to know what that's about," Annie said. "Why your Jotun form looks so different now, from the way it did the first time I saw it."

"I think perhaps I do," Loki said slowly. "I think, perhaps… when Father picked me up, he says I changed forms by instinct, into the semblance of an Aesir baby, and that form has never wavered. You remember, when he said that?"

"I do," Annie nodded, her arm sliding around his waist. Loki wrapped his own arm around her, creating an image in the mirror that should have been disturbingly incongruous, but somehow was not. 

"Well, I wonder now whether that was because, with no contact with any Jotnar since infancy, my magic somehow… forgot how it felt, to be Jotun. Perhaps those first transformations were incomplete because… because I really did not know _how_ to be Jotun, on a magical and physical level as well as an emotional one. I have had a great deal more contact with the Jotnar in recent times. Perhaps, now that my sorcery has, has something to work with, I am able to really take on the form properly."

"That makes sense," Annie agreed, looking thoughtful. "Now that I think of it, you might even have looked a little different when Helblindi used the Casket to bring you back. Although I admit I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time."

"I did not really notice, either," Loki said wryly, and Annie pinched him gently. Then she reached up to touch his face again, fingertips once again grazing the lines on his face. Once more, the sensation caused him to shiver. 

"I'm sorry," she began, pulling her hand back, and Loki shook his head. 

"No, it is… nice," he said, inadequately. "They are just… sensitive."

"And I'll leave you to it," Mitchell's voice sounded from halfway down the hall, as he retreated toward the stairs at top speed. Loki, horribly embarrassed himself, would have called him back, except Annie reached up to place a hand on the back of his neck and pull him down into a quick kiss. It felt… much the same in Jotun form as in his Aesir one, although he did wonder how Annie felt about it. 

"Well," he said, after a moment, "this has all been very illuminating, but perhaps it is time to turn our attention to your powers once again."

Annie wrinkled her nose at him. "And here I was hoping you'd forget about my 'powers."

"Never," Loki assured her, kissed her quickly, and stepped back. "I should change back to my… what I normally look like."

"Sure you're all right?" Annie asked gently, and Loki nodded. He actually wanted to spend a little more time exploring this form-- he would have rather liked to remove his shirts, for one thing, and just _see what he looked like_ \-- but now was not the time. He did not want to _remain_ in this form, not forever-- he was uncomfortably warm, he would be unable to fit into his little box room or his bed, he would probably frighten the kittens, and certainly he could not work at the school in a body whose very flesh posed a hazard to small children… 

He was _used_ to the other form, and he thought perhaps there was no reason for guilt in that, but he was beginning to be _curious_ about this one. 

Annie withdrew, probably to reassure Mitchell, and left alone in the bathroom Loki experienced a momentary panic, suddenly wondering how he was supposed to return to his other form. He braced his hands on the edge of the sink, studying the face in the mirror, then closed his eyes and tried to remember what it usually felt like, to inhabit his own body. He was not sure exactly what he did, but suddenly warmth came stealing back into his limbs and he felt as though his clothing had become larger. 

Loki breathed carefully in and out through his nose. Then he opened his eyes. 

The pale green eyes looking back at him from out of an equally pale face were almost startling. For a heartbeat, Loki felt strangely… bereft.

Then he straightened, stepped backward, took a final look at himself in the mirror, and went downstairs to join the others. 

~oOo~

Once again, Annie and Mitchell sat on the sofa facing Loki, who this time had pulled the armchair into position to sit across from them, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees and the kittens curled beside him, against his hip.

"I know the idea of really exploring your new powers is alarming to you," he said gently, once more in the voice he had always thought of as his own, "but as you saw, it turns out that really inhabiting my Jotun form was not nearly as terrifying as I always thought it would be. It would be good if you could feel confident that the same might be true of your new abilities." 

Annie clasped her hands together and twisted them nervously. Loki wondered whether she realized how similar the gesture was to Loki's when he was anxious. In spite of the fact she had pledged to face her new powers, Loki found himself quite unable to push her on that front, and changed tactics. 

"We will leave that for later. You want Owen to regret what he did to you," Loki said. "Can we talk about what, exactly, that means to you?" 

"I think, if we put our minds to it, we could make him really damned sorry," Mitchell muttered. 

"Yes," Loki agreed, looking at Mitchell but glancing at Annie out of the corner of his eyes. "But both of us know what it is to be _really damned sorry_ for our actions of the past, and there is a difference between being sorry that you have _done something to bring terrible punishments upon yourself,_ and being sorry you have _done something."_ Both Loki and Mitchell had, by their past actions, certainly earned dreadful punishments, but neither had ever had to suffer them. As a result, what they both regretted were the crimes themselves.

Annie wriggled uncomfortably. "I want… I want him to be sorry he did it. All of it. I want him to think about it, and realize it was wrong, and want to be a better person." 

"Very well," Loki agreed, relieved but not at all surprised: this was exactly what he would have expected of Annie. It would have been Annie's right to be vengeful and want Owen to suffer-- Loki wanted Owen to suffer, himself, but he was not Annie, and frankly, the world was a much better place with Annie in it as she was. 

Mitchell frankly looked a little crestfallen, and it crossed Loki's mind that it might be a wise idea to take his friend aside and remind him that "falling off the wagon" for any reason was a course to be avoided. 

Annie spoke again: 

"Maybe he's even sorry now." She glanced up at Loki and shrugged defensively. "I know he doesn't _seem_ sorry, but maybe…"

He had walked into the house, through the entry hall where Annie had lain dying, and had not even flinched. That alone should have alerted all of them: had Owen been innocent, surely he would have recoiled from the site of Annie's death. Loki had sensed falsehoods in Owen, but was prepared to wager his own head that _concealing his remorse_ was not one of them. Loki kept the thought out of his expression as he waited for Annie to continue to speak. 

She sat up straight, struck with a thought of her own. "I think I should haunt him." 

Loki's eyebrows flew upward, and Mitchell turned to Annie in frank disbelief. "You think you should _what?"_

Annie was determined. "Haunt him. Like… like Banquo's ghost. Loki, I don't know if you know about Banquo."

"He was murdered," Loki replied promptly, and that was the sum total of everything he knew on the subject. Nick Fury had referenced Banquo, on an occasion when Loki and Thor had emerged from a magical cavern covered in blood, and Loki had not remembered to find out anything more about him. 

Annie nodded. "Yes. Macbeth murdered him, and Banquo appeared at a dinner party all covered in blood and… shook his gory locks at him." She blinked. "I'm surprised I actually remember that."

Mitchell looked intensely doubtful. "I'm not sure it's the same thing, though. Macbeth was pretty conflicted to begin with, though I don't think you could say he was exactly _remorseful_ anyway and-- wait, are we sitting here arguing about _Shakespeare?"_

"So it would seem," Loki agreed, entertained in spite of himself. "I really must look up this story. But to return to the point, Annie, I must admit that Owen did not leave me with the impression he felt much in the way of guilt for your death." Quite the opposite: anyone but a liar as skilled as Loki would surely have thought he felt only regret over the terrible, terrible accident. Even Loki had been unable to pinpoint the exact nature of the lie. 

"No," Annie agreed. "I think he figures he's gotten away with it, and he doesn't think about it anymore. But… maybe he doesn't _let himself_ think about it." She looked around at the two skeptical but sympathetic faces and, defensively, repeated, "Maybe."

"Maybe," Loki agreed. Mitchell twitched, and Loki glared at him. Arguing Annie's point, he said, "You and I have repented for more extensive criminal pasts."

"Yes," Mitchell sighed. "I repented, after I nearly drowned myself in blood and murder. I let Herrick change me into a monster-- a _real_ monster, Loki-- and I fought it for a while, because I like to think that when I was human I was not really a bad person. But then I gave in and went on a bender that lasted nearly a hundred years, with occasional breaks in which sanity, or humanity, or _something_ tried to reassert itself. I repented after I glutted myself on death and blood and madness, and all those faces of all those people I killed started coming back to me. I repented after I … after I realized that, even though I was _in blood stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er_ \-- even though I knew that was true, I still couldn't stand to be what I was any longer, and I had to change, and so I tried to turn back.

"And _you_ repented, after you went bonkers and did a lot of things that I think everyone who knows you would agree were out of character. You repented after you recovered your sanity and realized what you had done. 

"And the thing is, I don't think either of those scenarios applies to Owen. He killed you, Annie, and he doesn't seem to regret it or feel conflicted or… care. He put on such a good act right here, on this sofa, that not even Loki could tell what he was lying about. I don't think his crimes keep him awake at night."

"But you don't know that for sure," Annie argued, her voice as soft as it was stubborn. 

"No," Mitchell conceded. "I don't." 

"Well," Annie said, "maybe that's the first thing we need to find out."

"Very well," Loki agreed. "That is what we will do."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** The paper and highlighter pens are canon, as are a few other elements (and a couple of direct quotes) that come up in this chapter. Also, reference is made to another minor **Being Human** character (and I've just realized I'm not sure how that character fits into Annie's timeline, so I've made up some context for her.) 
> 
> Okay, this chapter is taking us back toward the track, if not exactly as far as I intended. I was a little distracted by the Brazilian Grand Prix and the Grey Cup while trying to finish the chapter, so I'm just letting it unfold as it will.
> 
> **Warnings:** Sorry, folks, we're not getting back to Scamp in this chapter.

Annie decided that her plans for haunting Owen should be laid without delay. Accordingly-- and this element seemed to be very important to her-- she hunted through a drawer and found a pad of paper and a handful of brightly-coloured highlighter pens, in addition to an ordinary one. Loki ceded the armchair, and Annie curled up in it, with the paper propped on her knee and the pens fanned out before her on the coffee table. 

"All right," she said determinedly. "If I'm going to haunt Owen, I have to work out a proper plan of attack. What should I do first?"

"Find out where he lives," Mitchell, the once-hunter, called from the kitchen where he was washing up his breakfast dishes. 

"That seems a reasonable first step," Loki agreed, lifting Elizabeth, who seemed inclined to stalk the highlighter pens, from the coffee table and placing her in his lap. 

"Good idea," Annie agreed, and wrote something on the paper with the plain blue pen. She looked up, doubtful. "How will I go about doing that?"

"Does he have friends or family in Bristol?" Loki asked. If Annie was determined to haunt Owen, well, Loki would help her in any way he could. "Since he chooses not to return to this house to live, he may have found another abode, or he may be staying with someone he knows in the city."

Annie sat up straight, eyes striking fire. "Janey Harris!"

A book-- a heavy volume of naval history, borrowed by Loki from the library-- flew off the book case near the door. Mitchell, who had just appeared in the doorway, ducked back into the kitchen. Elizabeth and Philip watched the flight with interest. Loki hastily bespelled the book back to its place, and then prompted, 

"Who is Janey Harris?"

"She always fancied him," Annie said, rather obscurely. "And believe me, if she knew when I died she'd have been here before the ambulance crew."

"Do you by any chance know where she lives?" Loki asked. Annie avoided his eyes and made another note. There was a faint ripping sound, as the nib of her pen scored through the paper. The rest of the pens rose from the coffee table, and Loki cast another quick spell to stop them flying about the room like tiny missiles. The kittens looked disappointed, and Mitchell emerged from the kitchen carrying a tea-tray in front of himself like a shield. 

"Really, Annie, you've got to learn to control that," he complained. Annie shot a glare at him as the radio came on, loudly and not quite tuned to a BBC news program. Mitchell, still hiding behind the tea-tray, hastily crossed the lounge to turn down the volume. He then bent an accusing glance at Loki. "I thought you were going to work on it."

"Well, you know how it is when I plan anything," Loki shrugged. "You never know what will happen: one minute I am trying to disrupt my brother's coronation, and the next thing you know I am mopping floors here in Bristol." He stopped, as startled as his friends suddenly looked: he was quite sure that was the first time he had managed to joke about the circumstances that had led to his arrival in this realm.

Annie glanced from Loki to Mitchell, seemed to decide Loki was not quite ready to follow up on his little jest, and assured Mitchell, "I'll work on them, I promise. I just want to think about this bit first."

"I think you should think about the bit that involves the rest of us getting smacked in the head with flying objects," Mitchell grumbled. Another book, this one a slender paperback, flew through the air, ruffling Mitchell's hair on its way by. Mitchell slapped irritably at it. "See?"

"I beg your pardon, that was me," Loki murmured, the picture of innocence. He waved his hand and returned the book to the shelf. Mitchell shook the tea-tray at him. Loki smirked, and pointedly turned back to Annie to repeat his question. "Do you know where this Janey Harris dwells?"

Annie shook her head. "No. We knew her in London, before we came here. And then she sort of disappeared, she didn't come around us for a while, and when we arrived in Bristol, here she was. I didn't know she was coming to Bristol, too. " The three friends looked at each other. Loki assumed they were all thinking the same thing: what were the chances this Janey Harris's arrival in Bristol had nothing to do with Owen?

Slim.

Annie looked rather forlornly down at her pad of paper. "Apparently, I don't know very much at all."

"Never mind," Loki said reassuringly. "It is of no import, because Owen has promised that he will repair the hot water heater for us. He will have to let us know when he intends to enter the house, yes?" He glanced at Mitchell, who nodded confirmation of this point of etiquette. "Well, then: I will simply ensure I am here when he comes, and then follow him to his place of residence afterward. You see? Simplicity itself."

"As long as you don't get caught," Mitchell warned. "I don't think either the school or the Avengers would look very kindly on you getting arrested for stalking someone."

Annie looked alarmed, but Loki waved the concern away. "Do not be ridiculous. Obviously, I will use a glamour, or else take on the form of something inconspicuous, such as a starling. As to the Avengers, do you really think any of them would censure me, if they knew the circumstances? Tony Stark, perhaps? _Agent Coulson?_ I am sure even Steve Rogers would direct reproachful looks at Owen, if we explained the circumstances to him." 

"I suspect he'd do a lot worse than that," Mitchell admitted. "And I frankly would pay good money to see the Black Widow's reaction. Or Fury's. Still. Be careful."

"Yes, yes, of course," Loki recited, rolling his eyes for Annie's benefit, and was gratified when she giggled.

"Christ, when did I become the sensible one?" Mitchell groaned, dropping onto the end of the sofa opposite Loki and scooping both kittens into his lap. 

Loki smirked again. "Well, in George's temporary absence, _one_ of us must fill that vital role." He rose to his feet. "Excuse me for a moment, will you? I think I will go upstairs and fetch a pair of socks." Conscious of puzzled looks in his wake, he headed for the stairs.

~oOo~

Annie was as good as her word: having pledged to learn to control her powers, she worked very hard for the next forty-five minutes, which Loki knew from experience was a long time indeed for a novice to concentrate as hard as she was doing. The task Loki assigned her was to move a ball of rolled-up socks from Loki's hands to her own, and then transport them back. 

This was not without its difficulties: at first, she was unable to identify the tell-tale sensations of her powers working, and was forced to examine her feelings about Owen in more detail than any of the three friends was happy making her do. This resulted in more flying books, another outburst from the radio, and the kittens finally decamping upstairs. 

Even when she managed to isolate the specific feeling that accompanied action on the objects, Annie continued to find it very difficult to control. 

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed yet again, over a rumble of distant thunder outside, as the socks flew up and struck Loki in the face for at least the fifth time.

"It is of no importance," Loki assured her. "This is why we are using socks, rather than potatoes." 

"Or coconuts," Mitchell giggled, and was immediately hit in the head with the socks. "Nice one, Annie," he exclaimed. 

"Sorry. Me again," Loki replied, leaning over to retrieve the socks. He re-rolled them more tightly, then held out the sock-ball once again in his open hand. Annie chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then gazed in complete concentration at the ball of socks…

… which slowly rose in the air, then began to make their uncertain but controlled way toward her. Loki forbore to cheer, lest he break her concentration. Mitchell watched in unabashed wonder…

And the front door opened, and George and Nina came through, in animated conversation about the film they had just seen. 

Mitchell leaped to his feet as though galvanized, trying to put himself between Nina and the flying object. Loki snatched the socks out of the air, and Annie, though the human could not see her anyway, vanished. George came to a halt in the middle of the lounge, followed closely by Nina, who gazed upon Loki with a curiosity that seemed to overcome even the distaste for him she had previously exhibited. 

"What are you doing?" she asked. Loki smiled brightly, tossed the socks in the air and caught them in the same hand. 

"I am teaching myself to juggle," he explained, repeating the maneuver. "Someone told me that this was a good technique with which to begin." 

"Why are you teaching yourself to juggle?" asked George, who was extremely _intelligent_ but not, as the pigeon incident had made clear, always very _quick._

"Why not?" Loki replied, in a tone of manic cheerfulness, which had the predictable effect of making Nina uncomfortable. She glanced at George as though wishing to suggest they remove themselves from the vicinity of his mad housemate. Loki was aware he had done nothing to endear himself to Nina, and probably George would have words for him later, but at least she seemed distracted from thinking about the glimpse she might have seen of the sock-ball floating in midair when she walked in.

At this point, Mitchell did not so much step into the breach as hurl himself bodily into it. 

"I don't know about you, but I'm about parched for a cup of tea," he announced. "Nina, would you care for one?" He herded Nina, followed by an puzzled and squeaking George, out of the lounge to the kitchen. Loki was just about to go looking for Annie when someone knocked on the front door. 

Well. It was not _knocked,_ so much as _pounded._ Annie appeared at the top of the stairs and hissed urgently, 

"Who _is_ that?" as if Loki could see through doors. He looked up at her with an exaggerated and bewildered shrug--

\-- And then, in the next minute, he remembered the sound of distant thunder from a few moments ago. _Damn._

Casting an anxious glance at the kitchen doorway, Loki hastened-- all right, it was more accurate to say he _scurried_ \-- across the entry hall, and yanked open the front door. 

"Broth-- !" Thor's cheerful exclamation was cut off when Loki clamped a panicky hand over his mouth.

_"Shhh!"_ he ordered. The part of Thor's face that was visible under Loki's hand wore an expression of puzzlement, but-- with what Loki would later recognize as commendable patience-- he did not attempt to free himself. Or bite.

"Loki, what in the Nine are you doing?" 

Well, of course, there was generally someone available to speak for Thor when he was unable to do so for himself. Loki glanced over his brother's shoulder at the rest of his unexpected guests, then stepped hastily outside, pushing Thor backwards before him. Once on the steps he released his brother and closed the door behind himself. 

"Thor, Sif, welcome," he said, and glanced around at the Warriors Three. "Welcome to all of you. Now, for the love of everything, _hush!"_

Sif raised her eyebrows, and also her voice. "I repeat my question: what in the-- "

Loki flapped his hands at her, the sort of gesture that would have looked in character for George. "Shh, I tell you! George has brought home a… a friend. A mortal friend. A _female_ mortal friend-- "

"Good for you, George," Fandral murmured, and Volstagg chuckled.

"-- And I would very much like not to, to do anything to frighten her off before she has had a chance to fully acquaint herself with George's many wonderful qualities," Loki explained desperately.

And then, of course, Loki remembered that George had not come home the night before, which surely indicated a certain level of acquaintance already, and his unfortunate sense of humour nearly got the better of him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, in an effort to get the impulse toward hysterical giggling under control, and said-- almost truthfully-- 

"It is not that I am not delighted to see all of you, but may I ask the reason for your visit?"

There was, he realized, one obvious reason for them to be here. Thor's face shifted to a look of sternness and concern. Loki glanced past his brother-- and saw Fandral's expression suddenly become self-conscious. 

_Oh._

"I have no plans to kill anyone," Loki snapped, addressing his brother. Although, should he change his mind, he might well begin with Fandral. "What did he _tell_ you?"

"That you were upset, and Annie was upset, and perhaps it would be comforting for you to speak to your brother!" Fandral interrupted, in the harassed voice Loki had heard before. What was different now was the distinct undertone of hurt. "And then the rest of us came along because we wanted Annie to know we were-- "

"Concerned about her," Sif spoke up, glaring at Loki. 

Loki's mouth opened, and then it closed, and he looked at the disappointment on Thor's face and the weary resignation on those of Fandral, Sif, and Volstagg. Hogun looked as though he could not possibly care less, but that, too, might have been deceptive. 

It really was astonishing to Loki, that he could look at them on the same level when he felt about as tall as a particularly chastened mouse.

Loki dragged a hand back through his hair, glanced up and down the street, and remembered the matter of most urgency.

"I apologize. To all of you. Fandral, I am so sorry," he said, rapidly but with all the sincerity he could muster. "Later, when we have a moment, I will invite you to hit me as hard as you can, but for the moment I really must ask you to-- " They could not hang about in the street, nothing could possibly be more conspicuous. Loki opened the front door and peeked inside. The others were still in the kitchen. "Come with me, and be very quiet," he ordered in a whisper, grabbed his brother's hand as though they were both in the nursery, and led the way into the house. 

It was more than he deserved, but Thor's friends took pains to be as quiet as boots and armour permitted as they followed him up the staircase. Loki had of course cast a small enchantment to render their passage silent, but he still appreciated the obvious effort they made. He ushered the group into his bedchamber-- he had almost to wedge Hogun in last, like a man trying to stuff one more article of clothing into the corner of an overloaded suitcase-- and pulled the door closed behind them. 

He was dashing down the staircase, grateful for his own sock-clad feet, when Annie appeared before him, blocking the bottom of the stairs. 

"What have you done with them?" she demanded in a whisper, as though five Aesir warriors were a trifle he might have secreted in his pockets. Loki gestured behind himself. "Upstairs? Where upstairs?"

"In my chamber," Loki whispered back. 

" _Your_ \-- Loki, are you out of your mind? There's hardly room in there for you and me, and I'm a _ghost!_ Why didn't you hide them in _my_ room?" Loki blinked at her: not being in the habit of making himself free in Annie's private quarters, the idea had not occurred to him. Annie pulled a humourously exasperated face. "You'll be lucky if they don't break-- "

A muffled crash, rather like the contents of a bookshelf landing on the uncarpeted floor, sounded from the storey above them. Annie frankly rolled her eyes. 

"I'll go sort them out," she said. "Just a minute." She vanished, and Loki continued on his way downstairs just as Nina, George, and Mitchell emerged from the kitchen. 

"What was that?" Nina asked. 

"What was what?" Loki asked, the picture of innocence. Nina opened her mouth, and from upstairs came a muted tramping noise, as if five large Aesir warriors were creeping down the hall in heavy boots. 

Well, perhaps it was not so much "as if," really. 

"That," Nina said, looking upward in puzzlement. 

"Oh, that," Loki replied easily, picking up the socks from the coffee table. He unrolled the pair, re-rolled the individual socks into balls, smiled at Nina and began expertly to juggle them in one hand. "That was the pipes."

"The pipes?" repeated Nina, who looked as though she was uncertain whether to concentrate first on the ridiculousness of the claim, or on the fact Loki suddenly knew how to juggle. This was, more or less, what he had been counting on. However, an agreeable side-effect was the fact Nina now looked as though she wished to study, rather than to disembowel, him. It was entirely possible that disembowelment would later become _part_ of the study, but for the moment he basked in the lack of hostility in her expression. Confusion really was an improvement. 

Annie appeared at the foot of the stairs, made an exaggerated thumbs-up sign, and vanished again. Nina half-turned to see what Loki was looking at, and he snatched up the television remote to add to his juggling performance, which had the effect of drawing her attention back to him. 

"It is quite an old house," Loki returned to his original lie. "And the pipes are not all they could be. It is very strange how they sound like booted feet, is it not? When first I moved in, I kept imagining there were invisible warriors marching up and down the hallway." He smiled brightly at Nina. 

Nina looked as though she would speak. And then she looked as though she was unable to think of anything to say, and instead of wasting any more time on Loki, she turned to George. Her expression made it clear he was a much more attractive prospect: her face softened as she said, "Well, I'll say goodnight, then-- " and Loki felt a strange sense of an event already experienced when George, wearing an extremely amusing expression of commingled diffidence and infatuation (not, of course, that Loki was in any way judging him for this) offered, 

"I could walk you to your bus if you like-- "

There was another thud from upstairs. Loki hastily went back to his juggling, but Nina hardly seemed to notice the noise or the nonsense. She tilted her head back to look at George under her eyelashes, and he looked rather as though he had been struck in the head with Mjolnir as he took her hand and walked out of the house with her. 

Loki exhaled and put the socks and television controller back on the coffee table. Annie appeared next to him on the sofa, and Mitchell cast up his hands. 

"What's going on upstairs?" he demanded. 

"Thor," Loki explained concisely, and rose to his feet. "And his friends. I must fetch them. Annie, might I prevail upon you to make some more tea, please? And perhaps see if there are any of those nice chocolate-covered biscuits left? I have considerable mending of fences to do."

"How can you possibly have fences to mend? You've hardly even seen them recently," Mitchell protested. Loki echoed Mitchell's gesture, casting up his own hands. 

"Mitchell, surely you are familiar with the peculiar nature of my talents," he retorted. "I can ruin things faster than most people can eat a biscuit. Excuse me."

Without waiting for a reply, Loki trotted up the stairs. He paused at the top to take a deep breath, wishing he had asked Mitchell to do this part. He did not particularly want to face Thor or his friends, or confess to his latest failure. He had thought he was improving, had thought he was trying, but the moment anything happened to upset his balance he went right back to believing the worst of Fandral and the others. Well, he had earned this latest shame, and there was no avoiding its consequences. 

He went down the hall to knock on Annie's door. "Thor? As Tony Stark would say, the coast is clear. May I offer you refreshments and… and we can talk?"

"Of course, brother," Thor rumbled back. The door opened, and there was Thor, with Elizabeth sitting on his shoulder wearing an expression that indicted she was particularly pleased with herself. Thor glanced at the kitten out of the corner of his eye and broke into a warm smile. "We have been acquainting ourselves with your little companions. I believe the other one is at this moment climbing up the back of my cape."

"Little nuisances," Loki murmured fondly, as Thor turned in the doorway. Philip was indeed clinging to Thor's cape, halfway up, his ears laid back and his expression one of maddened determination. Declining to reflect on who _that_ expression reminded him of, Loki reached down to detach the kitten's claws from the heavy red cloth. Philip squirmed in his hands and Loki squashed whatever emotions tried to rise up as he acquiesced to the kitten's obvious wishes and placed him on Thor's shoulder next to his sister. 

Elizabeth promptly stretched forward and mewed piteously, until Loki stood close enough to his brother for her to clamber from Thor's shoulder to his own. He reached up to rub her tiny head and was rewarded with her vibrating purr in his ear. He wondered if the kitten could feel his shoulders softening under her.

"Please, come with me," he invited generally, without meeting the eyes of any of Thor's friends, and led the way down to the lounge. 

Annie was setting out a plate of the chocolatey biscuits, and she looked up in genuine pleasure at the sight of the guests.

"Annie, it is good to see you again," Thor said, moving forward to embrace her. Loki sidled out of the way as Sif and the Warriors Three followed suit, except for Hogun, who simply nodded at her as if he had never offered to abet a murder in her name. On the other hand, the nod was more than most people received from Hogun. 

Thor glanced at Loki, who averted his eyes, and then turned back to gently address Annie. "I understand you have learned something very troubling."

"Please, won't you sit down," Annie said with sudden formality, gesturing toward the available seats. "Mitchell is just putting the kettle on for tea." She smiled, the sort of smile that acknowledges the kindness of an acquaintance rather than accepts comfort from a friend. Loki knew perfectly well the aloofness was on his account, though she had no idea what was wrong. He was torn between gratitude to her for her loyalty, and the guilty awareness that his own stupid suspicions had led to this breach between her and some of her only friends from outside the house. 

This could not be permitted to go on. He clenched his hands, and spoke up, forcing himself to look at Fandral and the others.

"A moment ago, Fandral, I invited you to hit me for… for the assumption I made about your intentions. I was in earnest." 

"Do not be ridiculous," Fandral grumbled, waving Loki away as he started forward, handing Elizabeth to Annie as he did so. "I have no intention of hitting you."

"I would feel better if you did," Loki pleaded. 

Fandral smiled, crookedly and not entirely unkindly. "That is why I will not do it."

Well, that was fair. And probably confirmation that he really had ruined everything, really would have to start over again. Loki scruffed a hand back through his hair, pulling nervously at it, and finally made himself say,

"I really am terribly sorry for my… for the conclusion I came to. I was…I _know_ I can trust you all, and I have been trying to do better, to not, not always assume that you-- I have tried, but I failed. I insulted you, and I am sorry. I apologize." 

There were more words trembling on his tongue, but all of them were justifications and excuses, nothing that deserved to be heard, so Loki closed his mouth against them. 

There was a silence, in which Loki became aware of Fandral's growing discomfort, and of the way Volstagg was glaring at his friend. At length, Fandral sighed and said, 

"It really was more enjoyable to torment you in the days when you never admitted fault in anything." Volstagg cuffed Fandral, not very hard, like a bear admonishing its cub. The blond warrior glared at him. "All right, all right! Loki, I _wanted_ to believe you just needed to talk to Thor because it would make you feel better. I _wanted_ not to think you might do something mad again. But you were so frantic when we spoke, the way I remember you were when... So I did not exactly trust you, either, and though I did not _tell_ Thor he might be needed to head off some sort of outburst… I was half-afraid there would be one. You were not entirely wrong, to think I had set Thor on you for that reason. I, too, know we can trust you better than that, and I, too, apologize."

"Oh," Loki mumbled. "Well, um, I accept."

Volstagg looked from one to the other, his bearded face lit up with a smile of approval. "There, now. That was not so hard, was it?" There was a little sheepish mumbling from both sides, and Loki was conscious of a feeling that Volstagg's offspring were fortunate little souls indeed. 

Thor, who had been conspicuously quiet during all this, now spoke up equally sternly: 

"I confess, brother, to some concern of my own, regarding your intentions in this matter. What are you planning to do?"

Annie offered him the plate of biscuits. "Please, Thor, sit down. It feels really crowded in here."

Thor obeyed, but his expression of concern intensified as he turned back to Loki. "Brother-- ?"

"We intend to haunt Owen, and try to impress upon him the wrongness of his actions toward Annie," Loki said flatly. He was not surprised when Thor frowned. 

"Loki, that course seems doomed to bring trouble upon yourself," he argued. Mitchell appeared in the kitchen doorway, took stock of the situation, and retreated again. Loki shrugged, a gesture he knew perfectly well was infuriating. Thor let out a sharp exhalation of impatience, obviously reining in his rising exasperation. "You are well-thought-of in this realm, brother. Surely you would not wish to throw that away over this wretched mortal. I know you are angry at what he did to Annie, but you cannot-- "

It had been a long while since Thor had so thoroughly got hold of the wrong end of a stick, but he had certainly done so this time. Loki had just started to speak when another voice cut across his, and he fell silent.

"Thor. Stop right there," Annie said, in a tone of command quite unlike her ordinary one. Thor looked at her in surprise, and Annie offered him the plate of biscuits again, the gesture automatic, as though she did not know she was doing it. "None of this is Loki's idea. It's mine."

"Yours?" Thor asked, blankly. 

"Yes. Mine. The one who got murdered, remember?" Annie said harshly, and now it was Thor's turn to look ashamed of himself. Loki stepped forward and quietly took the plate of biscuits away from her. Annie went on firmly, "I've asked Loki to help me haunt Owen, and he's agreed because he's a good friend, and I appreciate your concern but none of this has anything to do with you." 

Thor looked at Annie, glanced at his brother, and then said quietly, "I am sorry, Annie, that was disrespectful of me. Will you tell us what happened?"

Mitchell appeared from the kitchen, carrying mugs of tea on a tray, and began handing them out as Annie reviewed the encounter with her parents and the memories it had brought to the surface. 

"And you truly did not remember any of it until then?" Sif asked, sounding more confused than disbelieving.

Annie made a gesture of frustration. "I don't know why, but I didn't. It was as if I just couldn't take it in." Loki, who knew very well how that felt, added a little more sugar to his tea and held his tongue.

"The mind can play very strange tricks," Thor spoke up, obviously still trying to make amends for not recognizing her primacy in this matter. He smiled suddenly. "I myself have very clear memories of our mother being with child before Loki was born, which of course I must have made up after I came to realize what mothers are supposed to look like at such a time." 

As an effort to make Annie forgive him, the gesture could hardly have been more transparent, but it appeared to work. She smiled at him, and offered the biscuits again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** A reminder that this universe is set pretty strictly in movieverse, where there is no indication that Sif is related to Heimdall. Also, oh look: brofeels. I should have been expecting those. 
> 
> **Warnings:** We're still not getting back to Scamp yet. In the gang's defense, this is still the same day as their last visit to the ruin. Sorry about this.

Loki helped Mitchell to bring chairs from the kitchen, but with so many unaccustomed guests he still, for lack of anywhere else to sit, found himself compelled to perch on the arm of Annie's chair as she spoke to Thor.

All right, Loki acknowledged, that was a lie. It was true that, as an alternative to squeezing between Thor and Volstagg on the sofa, his current situation had much to recommend it, but he was certainly not here merely as an alternative to being squashed. He rested his elbow against the back of Annie's chair, leaning toward her and pretending not to notice the faces Mitchell was making at him from across the room.

The only problem was… The only problem was, from this position, he was facing in the same direction as Annie. And that meant toward Thor.

Not, of course, that he would normally mind looking at his brother. But Thor wanted to hear whatever Annie was willing to tell him about Owen, and the stories she had told herself about her mortal life, and something of the terrible disillusionment she had suffered.

That disillusionment was illustrated by the heavy naval history sailing across the room again. Thor put a protective hand hastily over Philip, and Loki swiftly cast a blocking spell to send the book back to its place. Philip and Elizabeth looked quite confident no harm would come to them, but Thor's friends all ducked.

"What was that?" Sif demanded, straightening and, to Loki's eyes, carefully not looking at him.

"It's me," Annie explained miserably. "I've been like this ever since I found out. I'm like… I'm like an octopus." Even Loki looked at her in confusion, and Annie clarified, "I must be doing it as some sort of defense mechanism, the way when an octopus is scared or angry, it squirts a cloud of ink and tries to hide behind it."

"Only," remarked Fandral, "in your case, it is hardbound books."

"And sometimes crockery, or clocks and things," Annie admitted. "Loki's helping me learn to control it, but I think it's just, it's because I'm-- "

"Yes," Thor said, with quiet understanding, and Loki could not look at him anymore.

Before the moment could become any more awkward, the front door opened and George walked in.

"Oh, hello," he greeted the guests, with unexpected aplomb. The Aesir group waved at George, who waved back, and then turned to Loki with a knowing smile. "Is that why you were so peculiar, earlier? Because you had your brother and his friends stashed about the premises?"

"And also because Annie and I were practicing, so that she may learn to control her powers," Loki admitted. "I did not want Nina to see-- I mean no offense, brother, but it would be very hard to mistake any of you for Midgardian friends who had simply dropped by for a cup of tea."

"No offense is taken," Thor replied, looking amused.

"And I did not want Nina to see magic being worked and realize I am not human," Loki attempted to complete his explanation.

George looked amused as well. "Loki, you _do_ realize she already knows who you are?"

Loki felt his eyes widen, and he tightened his grip on the back of Annie's chair. "She _does?_ George, I swear to you, I gave nothing away-- "

George smirked at Loki's distress and singsonged gently, _"She saw you on the news._ Last summer, after all that with the Dire Wraiths and Hydra? All the Avengers were all over the television and the Internet. And you're living in Britain without a secret identity, remember? If you hadn't put anti-press spells all over the neighbourhood you'd be tripping over paparazzi every time you stepped out to buy milk. Nina isn't stupid. Of course she knows who you are."

Loki wriggled in embarrassment. "I felt sure that, without the horned helmet, humans would be most unlikely to remember me." Annie reached up to pat his leg.

"You may be underestimating the impression you-- and your cheekbones-- make on people," she remarked. Loki blushed and put his hand over hers.

And then he was unable to refrain from asking, "That being the case, though, I wonder why Nina dislikes me so much?" He felt foolish-- and rather childish-- as he spoke, and so tried to clarify: "I initially assumed she thought I was, was some sort of dubious character, who was perhaps taking advantage of your kindness in letting me live here-- " Which, when one came to think of it, was such an accurate reflection of the manner in which their relationship began that it stopped Loki in mid-sentence.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Loki," Mitchell spoke up, crossing the room to offer the biscuits around again. "She hates my guts, too. I think she thinks I might be a bad influence on George."

"Hard to imagine," Annie remarked primly, and Mitchell giggled.

"But if she thinks _you_ are a bad influence-- " Loki blurted. _What would she then make of the God of Mischief?_ Not, of course, that he was a god at all, but the mythology persisted.

George frowned around at the group as he took a biscuit from the plate. "Mitchell, she doesn't _hate_ you. Or you, Loki. She's just… _complicated_ ," he explained, his expression turning all sentimental.

_"'Complicated',"_ Mitchell repeated doubtfully.

"Yes," Annie said loudly. "Like the heroes in all the romance novels. When you're a _bloke_ , you're 'complicated.' When you're a _woman_ , everyone just calls you a bitch."

"I did not," Loki protested, and Annie patted him again. Mitchell looked a little guilty.

"Only inside my head," he murmured, gave the last biscuit to Volstagg, and hastily carried the plate back into the kitchen.

"What-- ? No!" George argued, on a high note. And then his face went… gooey. "She's just… prickly. Like a hedgehog. Like a tiny, adorable hedgehog."

Mitchell pushed the bead curtain out of the way in the kitchen doorway and leaned into the lounge to stare at George with a rather sickened expression. Loki bit his lip, Sif pressed her knuckles into her mouth, and Fandral folded his arms on his knees and put his head down on them, snorting gently with merriment. Volstagg poked him, while Thor and Hogun managed to retain straight faces-- although it must be said, Thor's mouth was sternly compressed but laugh lines radiated away from the corners of his eyes.

"What?" George demanded, looking around.

"You _have_ got it bad," hooted Mitchell, apparently the only member of the group who could speak. Thor, who of course spent more time than was healthy around Tony Stark, clearly understood the idiom. His understanding was expressed in an explosion of hilarity that proved sadly infectious: everyone else also burst out laughing, while George looked around with an indignant expression that reminded Loki irresistibly of the kittens, which naturally made Loki laugh even harder.

It was, of course, also only natural that George should retaliate. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced from Thor to Loki as he said,

"Actually, she was a bit concerned about one thing: she wanted to know what happened to that big beautiful ginger cat you had a few weeks ago."

Loki stifled a final, rather nervous, giggle as he asked, "And what did you tell her?"

"I told her you were really only looking after it for someone, and it had gone home," George explained, and then added, with unexpected gleeful spite, "I thought I had better not let her know about local witches powerful enough to put shapeshifting spells on the _God of Thunder."_ Thor was, of course, no more a god than Loki was, but certainly a much closer approximation.

Loki glanced toward Thor, whose cheeks were nearly as red as his cape. His friends were regarding him with expressions of confusion that had already begun to tend toward bright-eyed expectation.

Fandral finally spoke for the group: "What is this about shapeshifting spells?"

Thor cast a glance at George that suggested, were he capable of casting such spells himself, there was a werewolf not a hundred miles distant who might well find himself in the shape of a catnip mouse.

"Well," he began.

Loki realized his mouth was open in surprise, and hastily closed it. He had not thought very hard about what his brother might have intended to tell anyone in Asgard of his recent misadventures in feline form, but if he had he would certainly have assumed Thor's friends would be the first to hear of it. If Loki had had such a funny experience, he suspected he would have wasted little time in telling his own friends all about it. He could practically hear Annie's laughter.

That Thor was a shade more reticent surprised Loki considerably, but apparently not George.

"Yes?" Sif prompted, relentless.

"There is no need to talk about this right now," Loki tried to intervene, twisting his hands together. It was one thing for Thor and his friends to tease one another, but quite another for an outsider, a member of a completely different circle of friendship, to expose Thor to ridicule from his _own--_

Thor glanced at Loki, sent a long considering look his way, and then turned to Sif with a smile.

"You may recall that, some weeks ago, I paid a visit to this realm, to Jane Foster and later to Loki?"

"Yes," Volstagg rumbled. "You told us of a journey on a conveyance called a 'train.' It sounded very pleasant indeed."

"I think you would all have enjoyed it," Thor agreed. "What I seem to have neglected to relate to you was that, early in my sojourn in this part of the realm, I inadvertently ran afoul of a sorceress, who turned me into a kitten for my troubles."

This bald statement of fact had the surely-intended effect of temporarily silencing his audience.

"A kitten?" Volstagg said finally. He looked down at his lap, which was for the moment full of Elizabeth and Philip. "A… _kitten?"_

"Rather larger than these two, I understand," Thor admitted, with admirable composure. "With a fluffy golden coat."

"He was _adorable_ ," Annie spoke up. "Loki took pictures. Show them, Loki."

"I… I have not-- " Loki spluttered.

"Sure you have, you transferred the best ones to the laptop," Annie insisted. "Just a moment-- " She got up and fetched the laptop, which had fortunately been overlooked by Annie's recent activities. A few moments later Thor was watching with sheepish tolerance as his friends uttered exaggerated coos over the images of his kitten self, snuggling with Loki and George (who were of course the only members of the household whose images could be recorded by a camera), or lying on his back tempting unwary passersby to pet his tummy. (Loki had only fallen for the gambit once, and still had scars to show for it.)

Hogun, as expected, remained aloof from the general merriment. So it was rather a surprise when he spoke up:

"Did I not tell you?" His friends looked at him in confusion, and Hogun clarified, "Some weeks ago, I wished to take a short journey to Vanaheim-- "

"There is a woman," Fandral said, aside to Loki. "Hogun has taken to spending _vast_ amounts of time there, which is why he was not present that night Volstagg and I assisted you in the library." Hogun, ignoring him, went on,

"When I arrived at Heimdall's Observatory, I heard a very peculiar noise. I told you of it."

"You said it sounded as though he was _laughing_ ," Sif recalled. "Which seemed impossible."

"If not _impossible_ , then certainly _unprecedented,_ " Fandral agreed. "But, given this new information, perhaps not entirely implausible."

Everyone in the group took a moment to picture the Guardian of Asgard laughing. It was more than Loki's considerable powers of imagination could manage. 

"At any rate, Loki eventually tracked down the sorceress and convinced her to remove the enchantment," Thor wrapped up his story. His friends were by now laughing so hard that none of them seemed inclined to ask exactly what Thor had done to earn her wrath, which was a relief to Loki: he had rather glossed over Agnes Scott's motivations when he explained matters to Thor afterward. It would only have hurt his feelings. 

"She has actually turned quite friendly to us, since then," he contributed, in an effort to change the subject. "Fandral and Volstagg probably recall that the night I paid that visit to the library in Asgard, I was doing research on the matter of the ghostly dog. Annie and I consulted her a few days ago, and she suggested a course that I really think will be helpful." 

"And what ghostly dog is this?" Thor asked. Loki recalled, with a start, that this was the first time he had seen his brother since these events began. He hastily offered some explanatory remarks. "Ah," Thor said thoughtfully. "So George was in his wolf form, and you were keeping an eye on him? And incidentally, I assume, pretending to deliver messages to Hogwarts?" Loki blinked at Thor, who smiled and explained, "Jane's friend Darcy insisted I read the stories of Harry Potter, after she confused me by referring to me as a 'Gryffindor'."

"Yes, well, I might perhaps have been doing exactly that," Loki admitted. Sif and the Warriors, who could have remembered a conversation about Hogwarts on another night spent in the library of Asgard, looked confused but ready to tease. Thor glanced around at his friends, and his expression inexplicably stiffened.

"Forgive me, brother, I allowed myself to become distracted," he said quickly. "I was only remembering how much you have always enjoyed taking the form of a bird. So you are quite sure you will be able to free this spirit from her binding?"

"We believe so," Loki agreed. "The spell involved takes some practice, but there is no reason to believe I cannot master it."

"Of course there is not," Thor agreed. The expression of confidence in his abilities made Loki's heart twist a little.

Not long afterward, Thor and his friends agreed it was time to take their leave. They all tramped toward the door, Loki accompanying them. Sif and the Warriors went outside first, and Thor turned back for a last farewell.

"I am sorry we began so badly," he said quietly.

"That was more my fault than yours, or your friends'," Loki pointed out. He started to say something else, but it stuck in his throat.

"You know that if you need my help, you have only to ask," Thor reminded him. Loki nodded, tried and failed to speak again, then threw his arms around his brother's neck in a fierce embrace. Thor returned it, cradling the back of Loki's head in a gesture that was new between them but still felt strangely familiar, and then released him and went out into the darkness.

~oOo~

_He stood alone in the darkness, listening with vicious satisfaction to the sounds of a body tumbling down the stairs. There was a final, sickening thump, and then everything was still. _

_It occurred to him that, if life was not extinct, a tattling story might make its way to the ears of police or other authorities. This had to end, here and now. He went down the stairs as far as the bend, to take stock._

_Even in the dream he was surprised not to see a slight figure in grey and black, her dark curls a bloody tangle beneath her head. Instead, the figure was tall and broad and golden-haired, clad in armour and with a red cape twisted to one side where he had fallen on it. The blood seeping from the wound in the back of his skull had already begun to form a pool many shades darker than the cape._

_The expression on his face was already fading into the slack, meaningless look of the dead, but there was still an unmistakable expression of shock and betrayal on his features._

Loki sat up so fast he nearly bashed his head into the overhang of the ceiling. All that saved him was the fact he was already tumbling out of bed, gasping for breath and fumbling for the switch beside the door. When the overhead light came on, the sight of his own possessions-- the books accidentally knocked to the floor having been replaced with no harm done-- should have been comforting. Loki's eyes were so flooded with tears that he could hardly see anything, and so no comfort was forthcoming.

He went down the stairs in what amounted to a blind panic, probably fortunate not to lose his footing at the twisty bit and tumble down himself. His hands shook so much he could hardly unlock the door, but he managed it. Without stopping for jacket or shoes, Loki let himself out the door, took a single long step to the pavement, and then directly into the branches of Yggdrasil.

He managed a concealing glamour as he emerged in the quiet corridors of the palace, but not because he had recovered enough for self-possession. He did not want to be seen, to be spoken to, until he had reached--

The corridor outside Thor's chamber was quiet, the palace guard elsewhere on their night time rounds. Loki probably could have used a spell to open the door, but he managed to get enough of a grip on his emotions to simply bang on the door. When there was no immediate response, he pounded harder, the anxiety engendered by his dream-- he did _not_ like this new business of remembering his dreams-- driving him.

From the other side of the door he could hear rustling, Thor's voice calling out "What is it?" in sleepy alarm, and then the door opened and Thor stood before him in light trousers and a rumpled shirt. "Loki? What are you doing here?"

"I am Owen," Loki blurted, his arms wrapped around himself in a forlorn effort to capture some warmth. He was vaguely aware he was shivering.

"What in the Nine-- come in here quickly," Thor whispered, drawing him without ceremony through the door. "Sit down, I will find you a robe, you look frozen. What are you _doing_ here?" he repeated, but did not wait for a reply before he stepped into his bedchamber to retrieve the promised robe.

Loki, seated in the chair next to Thor's writing-table, hugged himself and looked around the unfamiliar room. He could not, offhand, recall the last time he had been in this chamber. He was working on that problem, in an effort to focus his mind, when Thor reappeared and thrust a heavy garment of black wool at him.

"Here, put this on," Thor ordered, and Loki meekly obeyed, wrapping himself in the warm folds. His bare feet were still cold, but after a few moments the shivering began to abate. At that point, Thor pulled up a second chair near Loki's, and went back to trying to find out what was wrong. "What do you mean by appearing like this, in your nightclothes, looking as though you are being pursued by fiends? What has happened?"

He did not refer to Loki's words, but when Loki's mouth opened again Thor's closed, and he listened.

"When you were talking to Annie, earlier," Loki began, twisting his hands together and then hugging the robe around himself as though for protection. "She was telling you about, about being betrayed by someone she loved and trusted, being murdered by him. And… and that made me realize-- "

Thor's frown of concern had intensified, and now he did speak. "Brother, calm down. If you are trying to say what I think you are trying to say-- "

Loki used the sleeve of Thor's robe to wipe his eyes. "I am _trying to say_ that I did to you what Owen did to Annie, and… and listening to her talk about how that makes her _feel_ … I have never asked you that. I never asked-- "

"Loki," Thor said, very gently, "we have spoken of this. It is forgiven, and it is behind us."

"Thor, _how did you feel?"_ Loki insisted, his voice rising. Thor started to reach forward, to put an arm around him, and Loki jerked backward. "I did not come here for you to comfort me," he protested. Thor raised his eyebrows, and Loki admitted miserably, "Not entirely, anyway."

Thor almost laughed, and this time Loki let his brother pull him close. "I think you are falling into the same trap I sometimes do, Loki."

"Oh? And what is that?" Loki asked, his voice rather muffled by fabric and Thor's shoulder.

"You are thinking as though our relationship _then_ was the same as our relationship _now_. It was not, and you know it. Annie loved Owen, and trusted him, and it gave him a great deal of power over her-- which he abused. It was not the same between you and me. Not in those days."

"Even so," Loki mumbled. "You must have felt _something_."

"Anger, mostly," Thor admitted. "I am afraid that, when I learned what lies you had told me, about Father being dead and Mother not wanting me anymore… If you had been near to hand I really might have throttled you."

"I would have deserved it," Loki muttered. Thor patted his head. "And then… after the Destroyer? After I… did that to you…?"

Thor sighed. "Again, anger. Triumph, that my powers had been restored to me. And yes, I felt bewildered and betrayed, that you who had followed me so faithfully for so long would _do that_ to me. I fully intended to punish you for it, was bent on revenge, though in my mind I called it justice. It did not occur to me until later to wonder _why_ you had done things that were so out of character. I think that bothers me more than anything, now that I think about it: all I considered was how your actions impacted _me_."

Loki snorted weakly. "There was, as the humans say, a lot of that going around at the time. I just… I hurt so much, and I suppose I thought you had _known_ … I couldn't turn on Father and Mother-- well, not directly-- and… It does not excuse what I did, and nothing will excuse the fact I never _asked you_ \-- I am as bad as Owen, thinking only of myself."

Thor patted him again. "Be fair, Loki. I have always known that you would have listened, if I had wanted to talk about it. And by the time I was composed enough to feel anything except anger for your actions, I had a sort of explanation for them, and that helped. It helped me think of _you_ , instead of simply the role you played in my life.

"And then, when you were gone, I began to realize that it was not the role I missed, it was _you_. I was surprised at how much I missed you. I used to wish you would go away and leave me alone, you were so miserable with my friends and me that I could not understand what you wanted of us-- " Loki wriggled a shrug: he had no idea, either, had finally been motivated as much by obstinacy as by gnawing loneliness. Thor went on, "-- but when you were gone, I thought of you all the time. Only… in my memory, you were very small. I would remember you as when we were children, when you looked to me always for comfort and guidance. It was too much, I finally ran away from it-- but when I remembered you, it was always as that little boy who seemed to think I was wonderful. I was terribly proud to be your big brother, you know. It was just…such a lot to live up to.

"I pretended for a while that things had never changed between us-- I did not like to think about all the things I could have done differently, I thought you were dead, that there was no way to change them. But I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Loki admitted. "Whenever I encountered something new I would think, _Thor would enjoy this,_ and I would miss you terribly. Ice cream. Silly things. And when you appeared on my doorstep, with Sif… I thought you were coming to bring me back to be punished, and I did not care. I was glad to see you anyway."

Thor tightened his arm. "As I was, to see you. You must not worry too much about all this, Loki. I was very angry at you, yes, when my blood was up. And I admit I was hurt, but I realized very quickly that you could not have acted purposefully. Besides… I was surrounded by my friends, by people telling me how well I had behaved-- I felt guilty about that, after a while-- and even Father saying he was proud of me." He sighed again. "I think he was afraid of making all the same mistakes with me that he had with you, of losing me as well. I do not recall him ever _telling_ me, so openly, so that there could be no mistake."

"Father has changed as much as any of us, I think," Loki murmured, thinking of strong arms awkwardly embracing him.

"It was Father, more than you, anyway," Thor said. Loki looked up at that, bewildered. Thor smiled tightly. "You helped me to disgrace myself, although Clint Barton would probably say you simply gave me the rope I needed to hang myself. But Father-- he wanted me to be a great warrior, to defend Asgard by force of arms, and I did as he wished. I made sure there was none greater. It was how I ensured I was loved, how I… protected myself." His eyes went distant. "And then, suddenly, it was all wrong, everything that I thought I was supposed to do, and I was cast out. It felt as though the ground had disappeared from under my feet.

"I learned much in my banishment, and I met Jane-- " his face softened momentarily-- "but it still seems that it might have been more productive to teach me restraint from the beginning, instead of encouraging my childish boasts of _slaying all the monsters_ , when you were right there to hear, when Father must have known other Jotnar besides their warlord king. No one who has met Helblindi could believe in talk of monsters. I love Father dearly, but he too has flaws, and he sometimes ignores a thing until he has to react drastically, instead of stopping it at a manageable stage. I wonder, sometimes, how early he knew of Laufey's designs on Midgard."

"Thor," Loki whispered, warningly.

"You think I show disloyalty. It would be worse than disloyalty, for a future king to fail to learn from the mistakes of others-- even Father's."

"You will be a great king," Loki said, and knew it was true. Not today, perhaps, but someday, and soon.

Thor grimaced. "If I can learn from even my own mistakes. Tonight, when my friends were teasing me about my time as a cat, I very nearly fell into my old habit of throwing you to them for ridicule instead." It took Loki a moment to remember Hogwarts and the owl. "I am sorry for that."

"Nothing came of it, and really, it would have been funny," Loki replied. "It was harmless. But thank you for thinking of it."

"It was little enough," Thor muttered, and then looked sharply at Loki. "Promise you will not brood about this." Loki chewed his lip, and Thor shook him gently. "Promise, or tomorrow night _I_ will rouse _you_ from slumber, full of apologies for times in the past when _I_ was the one who hurt and betrayed _you_. Do you think that did not cross _my_ mind, when Annie was speaking?"

Loki blinked at him. "I… no."

"I thought not." Thor was still looking very hard at him. "Sometimes, I swear, it is as if that same little brother fell out of the void, and I have him back. I just hope this time I have the sense to be grateful. And, of course, this time we are not alone." Without letting Loki respond, he went on, "Do you wish to stay here tonight? What is left of it?"

"No, I should… I left the house unlocked," Loki muttered, belatedly realizing how inconsiderate he had been, in several directions. "And I have already trespassed enough on your rest-- "

Thor shrugged. "I had rather have the talk than the sleep, to be honest. Are you sure you are all right?"

Loki nodded, got to his feet and handed back the robe.

Hesitated.

"Darcy is correct," he said abruptly. Thor raised his eyebrows. "Gryffindor, without a doubt."

Thor laughed. "That may be unfortunate-- I confess, when I read the little song sung by the Hat, all I could think was that you would find them dreadfully annoying."

Loki shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "They have their good points."

"Indeed. You might be forced to change your opinion, if the Hat assigned you there."

"Oh, no, I know my House already. There is a game, on the computer. Darcy can show you. You answer a series of questions, and the game tells you your house. I belong in Hufflepuff."

"Really, brother? Not Ravenclaw?"

Loki appreciated the fact his brother did not suggest Slytherin. "No, no, definitely Hufflepuff. With Annie."

"Ah." Thor smiled. "And how many tries did it take you, to persuade the Hat to assign you to Hufflepuff? With Annie."

Loki grinned. "Seven. No, eight. Good morning, brother." He closed the door on Thor's shout of laughter, wrapped a cloak of invisibility around himself, and made his way home.

~oOo~

Late the next morning, Loki took a clipboard and an inventory sheet into the storage room, to determine which cleaning supplies he and Carol would soon need to reorder.

Before he began that task, however, he pulled out his mobile and called up a number he had programmed in only that morning. He listened as it rang three times on the other end, and then a voice that set his teeth on edge said, "Yes?"

"Is this Owen?" Loki asked politely. Receiving an affirmative, he went on, "My name is Loki, I am one of your tenants?" He permitted the last words to twist upward into a question, a tone which humans seemed to find unthreatening. Loki was generally not in the habit of menacing humans, but in the case of Owen, it seemed prudent to take extra precautions. "We spoke the other day-- " which one, he could no longer remember-- "about the condition of the water heater in our-- in the house?"

"You were having some trouble with it," Owen agreed.

"Yes, well," Loki said sadly, "this morning it seems to have… expired."

"It's not working at all?"

"I fear not," Loki replied. "I do not know what the trouble is." Which was not even a lie, since he really had no idea what any of the parts he had, only this morning, carefully removed from the boiler, and then replaced in new locations with the aid of a wrench and some magic, were supposed to do.

Owen cursed. "Do you want me to look at it today?"

"If you could," Loki replied meekly. "We have all been bathing in cold water for some time already, but now we are also washing our dishes in cold, which I am informed is quite unhygienic." Surely the person responsible for the maintenance of the house should not need to be persuaded to deal with this?

"All right," Owen said, with reasonably good grace. "When are you home from work?"

"Shortly after four o'clock," Loki replied. "I opened the school this morning, and so my colleague will stay to close it."

"Um. All right, suppose I come by just before five? Will you or one of the others be there?"

"I will be there," Loki promised. "You can count on it."

"Okay," said Owen, "I'll see you then."

Loki ended the call, stuffed his mobile back into his pocket, and looked at Annie, who was standing just inside the door.

"All set?" she asked.

"All set," Loki confirmed.

Annie took a deep breath, and let it out. "Well, okay then."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** In which Loki contemplates what one does after securing one's own oxygen mask, and progress is made in various directions. Also, it is not always entirely convenient to have housemates. 
> 
> **Warnings:** This is another long one. Also, I keep finding gaps in my knowledge of Annie's life in Bristol. Therefore, there's more made-up stuff in this chapter, because I can't figure out if certain stuff was there and I missed it, or if it never came up in the show. I apologize for inconsistencies this might introduce.

True to his word (and he chose not to see any incongruity in that), Loki returned home shortly after four o'clock that afternoon, to find Annie, with Philip and Elizabeth trotting in her wake, pacing between the kitchen, the lounge, and the entry hall. 

"How are you?" he asked, embracing her. 

"Fine," she replied automatically, and then tightened her grip on him. "No. Not fine. Anxious. Angry. Scared. Hopeful-- and I don't know where _that's_ coming from. Where did you go last night?"

Loki would have pulled back to look at her, but she refused to loosen her arms. "Last night?" he temporized, speaking to the top of her head. 

"Yes, last night. I heard you kind of fall out of bed, and then before I could get down the hall you were out the front door. What on earth was the matter?"

"Do we really wish to talk about me right now?"

"Yes. I was worried, and anyway _right now,_ I need a distraction."

Loki gave in. "I had … an unpleasant dream, in which I was standing over Thor after having murdered him." No need to bring up the matter of the stairs, or the comparison it invited. "And it occurred to me--- well, actually, it _had been occurring to me_ all evening-- that as much as Thor and I have talked about… everything I did… I had never actually asked him how he _felt_ about it all. And as far as I recall, he has never volunteered." There was a twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about what that could mean.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't," Annie agreed, and now she did loosen her arms, taking hold of his hands instead, and step back to look into his face. "He might have felt like it wouldn't be fair." Loki flinched, and Annie pressed on, "So you went to Asgard? In the middle of the night?"

"Yes, and now I think about it, I am very grateful that Jane Foster does not make a habit of doing so, because it never crossed my mind to imagine Thor would not be alone." Loki paused to consider the possibilities, cringed, and went rapidly on, "At any rate, I pounded on his door and woke him up to ask him my question."

"And?" Annie prodded, when Loki stopped again. 

"And…" Loki hesitated, and went on slowly, "I used to believe I was the only member of my family who told lies. I thought it was one of the differences between me and them."

"And it isn't?"

"No. The difference is more the… the type of lie, and the motivation behind it." Annie waited, and after another moment Loki went on, "He told me he had been angry, and a little hurt, but is now quite recovered, and I am not to worry about it. I cannot help thinking it cannot be quite so simple."

Annie forbore to point out that, to Loki, nothing was ever _simple,_ probably because this specific thing really was not. She looked thoughtful. 

"Well, maybe he really believes it," she offered. Loki gave her another questioning frown. "Come on, Loki. If nobody ever helped _you_ figure out what you were feeling, what makes you think it would have been any different for _Thor?_ It might even have been worse for him, in a way, all golden and favoured and expected to set a heroic example to everyone and never show weakness. Don't _you_ start feeling guilty again, but that really is an awful lot to live up to."

"He said the same thing," Loki admitted. "Although he was specifically referring to my needs when he did."

"Well, you know, maybe he still is. Referring to your needs. He might not think it would be fair to burden you with his feelings-- or he might not even know _what_ he feels. Me, I used to just get headaches and stomachaches, and now-- " she glanced at the bookshelf, and Loki automatically cast a stay-where-you-are spell on the naval history. Once she was assured the book would not be making another flight across the lounge, Annie completed her thought: "We already know Thor feels bad about how he used to treat you-- whether that's fair or not," she forestalled a protest from Loki. "But I wouldn't be one bit surprised to find out he also feels pretty bad about how _he_ was treated, too. And maybe he can't admit it. Maybe he feels guilty because he thinks you had it worse. Or, like I said-- maybe he honestly doesn't know how he feels. And if that's the case, he probably can't talk about it, either." 

"But how can I _help_ him, if he will not speak of it?" Loki pleaded. Had it not been for Odin's spell, Loki knew he would have been in the very same miserable state. He did not wish that for his brother. On the other hand, he also could not very well push Thor from the Bifrost, throw a handful of magic after him, and hope for the best. 

"I suppose you'll just have to ask him," Annie suggested. "And… ask again if you have to. You know how it is." Loki did: the _first_ time such a question was asked, perhaps you would not know how to answer, and then you might be left hoping someone would think to ask it again, after you had found the words you wished to say. 

It was possible to be left for a long time, hoping. 

Annie patted his hand. "The other thing is, you should probably tell Jane you're worried about him. He might find it easier to talk to her, the way you could talk to the boys and me before you could to Thor."

Loki chewed his lip. Annie was, as usual, correct. The only problem was, Jane no longer hated him, and he did not want to remind her that she once, and for good reason, had. 

Still, for Thor…

"That is a good idea," he said, before he could lose all his courage. "I will send her a message." 

"Do that," Annie urged, then added, "It'll be all right. You and Thor are a lot alike, and remember, you did the same thing, when you came to us: started off by telling us what _you_ did wrong. You only talked about what was done _to_ you later. He'll get there. Be patient."

"I should have… long ago," Loki muttered, shamed. 

"Don't," Annie warned. "Don't make me get the water bottle. How many times have you made excuses for Thor leaving you behind when you were kids? Because he was trying to save himself? Well, that cuts both ways. You couldn't do this before. And now you _can_ , and you _are_. All right?"

"All right," Loki reluctantly agreed.

And just at that, there was a knock at the door. Loki smiled at Annie and tightened his grip on her hands. 

"Ready?" he asked. 

"Ready."

~oOo~ 

"Are you sure I may not assist you?" Loki asked, from his seat on the steps leading down to the cellar. Two floors above him, Philip and Elizabeth scrabbled at the closed door of his bedchamber and wept over their imprisonment. Loki reminded himself that they would recover, as they did every morning when another door was shut against them while he bathed-- having once had a cat join him in the bath, Loki wished never to repeat the experience. And besides, they would surely not like cold water.

At the moment, of course, he simply wanted to keep them as far away from Owen as he could manage without actually removing them from the house.

In the cellar below, Owen clanked and rattled at the hot water heater. "No, no, I'm fine," the man insisted, and Loki smiled his acquiescence. 

It was as well the matter of the boiler was merely an excuse: it was abundantly clear that Owen was no more skilled in home repair than Loki and his friends, and had not even noticed the parts Loki had moved around. 

"He always did overestimate his own abilities," Annie remarked dryly, as she sat next to Loki with her arms wrapped around her knees. "About _everything,_ now I think of it."

Loki glanced at Annie out of the corner of his eye, concluded the comment was intended to sound as improper as he thought it did, and stifled a giggle. Owen did not appear to notice that, either. 

It was unkind to bait the human, but since he did not care, and also it might take his mind off the even worse things he wanted to do to Owen, and anyway it was part of the plan, Loki remarked ingenuously, 

"I fear I am not what is called 'handy,' and I do not really understand the workings of that device. Where I come from, much of our hot water is obtained from hot springs." He considered adding, "or magic," but decided that, while true, the comment was perhaps excessive. 

His gambit had the intended effect anyway: Owen glanced back at him and said, "You're not from around here."

"I am not," Loki agreed. Only a few days ago, misunderstanding the laws which protected the tenants of rented premises, he had wanted to avoid bringing this information to Owen's attention. Now, it was a peripheral but satisfying part of the plan. "You may be aware that I am a citizen of the realm of Asgard-- as is my older brother, Thor. You have perhaps heard of Thor?" he pressed on, with a smile of bright innocence that, on Asgard, would cause those seeing it to check the contents of their pockets and ensure their backs were guarded. 

"He's one of the Avengers, right?" Owen said, and Loki did not have to be the God of Mischief (which, of course, he technically was not) to hear the misgiving in the words.

"Yes, that is he," Loki replied happily. "He has found his calling among those heroes, which is most pleasing to our parents. It is true he also is heir to the throne of Asgard, but our father is hale, and it is so important, do you not think, for the heir to engage in meaningful employment rather than simply waiting around? Like Prince William and his search-and-rescue activities? I should also speak of his father Prince Charles, but I am nearly convinced the Queen will outlive all her children-- as, indeed, may our own father." Loki permitted an expression of thoughtful discovery to seep across his face. "Truly, now I think of it, there is considerable similarity between Prince William's occupation and that of my brother. Except, of course, the circumstances under which they are called upon."

"Your brother mostly gets called in to save the world," Owen offered, his shoulders more tense than they had been. 

"Oh, no, no, not at all," Loki replied, in kindly amusement. "He, like William, is frequently tasked with rescuing the innocent from harm. It is just that in the case of Thor and his comrades, the harm generally comes in the form of some malign force or miscreant, as opposed to weather or other natural causes. And that, of course, is where the _avenging_ comes in." He paused, an artistic expression of nostalgic contemplation crossing his face. "It really is just as well Thor has learned to control his temper somewhat. When we were children, it could be ferocious. I recall a time when he caught an older child tormenting a puppy," Loki went on mendaciously. The specific story was untrue-- Asgard's kennel master was far too careful of his charges-- but Loki felt no guilt for the lie. It was exactly the sort of thing his brother would have done, and anyway it suited his current purpose. "He administered a terrible thrashing. His friends were finally forced to drag him away. Thor has ever been fierce in the protection of any who were younger or smaller or in any way helpless." 

"Must have been nice, to have a big brother like that looking out for you," Owen offered, appearing more uneasy by the minute.

"It was indeed," Loki replied, without flinching. "As I say, Thor has since learned more control of his temper, but, to this day, when he learns of anyone wronging or harming someone weaker or smaller than themselves, his fury can really be terrible. I believe his friend Captain America is sometimes compelled to remind him of the laws that govern the realm of the United States-- although, of course, it is also true that Captain America became what he is now, at least in part, because he cannot abide _bullies._ "

"I think this is all I can do for today," Owen said abruptly, having accomplished absolutely nothing in the way of boiler repair. "I'll have to get some new parts and come back later in the week. Is that all right?" 

"Certainly, if it must be so," Loki replied, with a fine show of _being a good sport_. "I do hope you have identified the trouble?"

"Oh, sure," Owen said, and such was his self-assurance on this point that, had he not known better, even Loki might have had difficulty spotting the lie. Interesting. "Won't take anytime at all, once I get the parts. Should we say Thursday?" 

Loki agreed, then led the way up the stairs to the main floor of the house, offering beer or tea as refreshment. Owen refused both:

"No, I should be getting home. My… partner… Janey, will be waiting tea for me." Beside Loki, Annie stiffened, but none of the fixtures took flight. 

"Ah. Well, in that case, I will not keep you," Loki said affably. By this time they were in the entry hall, and behind Loki, Annie took up her agreed-upon position, in the shadows in the bend of the staircase. Loki extended a hand to Owen to shake. 

He felt one galvanic shock, when Owen glimpsed his dead fiancée over Loki's shoulder, but Owen mastered himself almost before Annie disappeared, fading away artistically as she went up the stairs. A moment later, the man was out the door, leaving the ghost and the sorcerer behind. 

There was no time to discuss their impressions. Loki kissed Annie quickly, reminded her of the doors and windows that must be opened and closed and opened again.

Then he opened the window to one side of the front door, just a few inches, and raised the screen. 

A moment later, his clothing fell empty to the floor, and a starling was left perched on the windowsill. It spread its wings and flew away.

~oOo~

Loki was in luck, of a sort: it turned out Owen lived within walking distance of the pink house, and so the starling form was readily able to follow him. Within the starling, Loki was not at all happy about this proximity, but decided to consider one problem at a time. 

The dwelling Owen approached was on another terrace, this one newer than the one where Loki and his friends lived, and not nearly as shabby. It was a perfectly pleasant, innocuous sort of place, and Loki found himself hating everything about the whole street. Which might, of course, simply reflect the fact he was disposed to scorn any place where Owen felt welcome. 

Owen let himself into a house in the middle of the terrace, and Loki flew to a bush in the tiny front garden. Once there, he fluffed his feathers around himself, then cast his mind out and felt for the inhabitants of the house. 

Loki could not actually read minds, although at times he had been able to establish a crude form of communication with other creatures. He had made it work with ants (very simple, earnest little intelligences, willing to cooperate) and once-- a memory edged in gold-- with a real live rhinoceros (ponderously serious and thoughtful) but it took a high degree of concentration, and also was probably not terribly comfortable for the animal. As a result, he had only attempted such contact when it was a matter of life or death for someone, and had never even tried it with the kittens.

He had also never made an effort to communicate thus with humans or Aesir: their minds were more complicated and far more guarded, and Loki did not feel there was much chance of success, at least not with an adult. He could, however, form an impression of the mood or intent of a nearby mind, an ability which could be extremely useful. 

He groped for the minds inside the house, and found two. One was impatient, domineering-- he could feel it harrying the second mind, driving the other as though pursuing it from one room of the little house to another. Loki could not tell whether the pursuit was literal, or whether it was more in the sense of having no safe place of one's own. 

The domineering mind was definitely Owen: Loki could feel a sort of mental outline that matched the impression he had felt in the house. The anxiety Loki had engendered, with his talk of Avengers who protected the weak, was still there. There were, however, subtle differences now, an extra helping of anger and impatience, a feeling of the mind looking for something to rebuke or punish, as though to take out its distress on another. Loki carefully pushed aside a further, dual, sense of familiarity, and tried to concentrate on the second consciousness. 

_Prey._ He felt the second mind scurrying as though in circles within its skull, cowering and placating. The effect on the first mind would be rather the same as the effect, on a predator, of seeing some little creature crippled and whimpering, trying to drag itself to safety. Loki clung to his starling form with sudden difficulty: he had, for a moment, the nearly overpowering urge to let go of it, to feel cold and blue surge through his body and see _how Owen liked it_ when a burly naked Jotun kicked in his front door and seized him by the throat. 

Yes, well, that would not benefit anyone, particularly not the reputation of the Jotnar here in Britain. And it would certainly only terrify Owen's victim. Loki tried to calm the hammering of his heart, and then felt the dominant mind settle a little and for the moment do no harm. That was not especially comforting to Loki, since he was certain the calming effect had been brought about by the second mind's appeasement of the other, its utter capitulation.

There was, as far as Loki could tell, for the moment no physical danger. The second mind-- which had to belong to this "Janey" to whom Owen had referred, who in turn had to be the "Janey Harris" whose very name annoyed Annie so-- would probably not be harmed any further today. Might not be physically injured, ever.

Might never be grabbed in a rage and thrown down a flight of stairs to her death. 

But there were other means of destruction, means which left the victim in a condition to provide years-- _centuries_ \-- of amusement to its tormenter. 

Annie had been badly hurt by Owen, was still dealing with the damage he had done to her, would still need to be supported in that task. But-- she was _safe_ from him now. He could no longer harm her: she had sat next to Loki on the stairs, watching Owen pretend to knowledge and skills he did not have, and her reaction had been, not fear, but something like the contempt he deserved. Annie, who had walked into a supervillain's lair to find those in need of assistance, who had faced the king of Jotunheim and had seen only a reasonable creature deserving of respect-- _Annie_ could not be _frightened_ by such a pitiful excuse for a human as this Owen. 

Janey Harris, on the other hand, was still vulnerable to everything Owen might choose to do to her. It was abundantly clear that Annie did not like her, and it seemed probable that her behaviour had not been beyond reproach while Annie was alive, but none of that meant she should be allowed to live, and possibly die, in the same fear and… humiliation… endured by Annie. She did not deserve, whatever her own failings, to become prey for the likes of Owen. 

Very well. Loki could feel his head begin to pound with the effort of retaining this tiny form, and he knew it was time to return home. He would consult Annie, would see whether her attitude toward Owen had altered, would form his own plans to honour hers. But he would also keep this Janey in mind, see to it that whatever they decided to do to Owen, she was not incidentally harmed. Perhaps she was only weak, or lonely, vulnerable to Owen's plausible attentions. Perhaps she was otherwise well-intentioned and… nice. 

And even if she was not, even if she had schemed with Owen to betray Annie-- though surely not to kill her-- even if she had believed herself clever for making a fool of her rival, she did not deserve to live in the kind of constant apprehension she did now. 

Probably. 

And it was not Loki's place to make such a judgment anyway. No, Janey would as far as possible be exempted from whatever happened to Owen, and would have to make her own peace with whatever her own actions and intentions had been. 

Loki drew his concentration from the house back into his own mind, and flew from the bush toward his home, where an open window waited for him. 

~oOo~

Loki landed on the windowsill, paused, and peered around to ensure his bedchamber was empty and the door closed: he had as little desire to make an accidental exhibition of himself as he did to be pounced on by his own pets. Finding the coast clear, he fluttered down onto his bed, and a moment later was in his usual form. The clothing he had been wearing earlier now reposed in his laundry basket, where Annie had presumably put it, so after he closed the window Loki found fresh garb and got dressed.

He was in trousers and shirt, pulling on his socks, when from outside the closed door he heard piteous mewing, and the sound of tiny claws scrabbling on the wood. Still sitting on the edge of his bed, Loki leaned forward and opened the door. Philip and Elizabeth spilled into the little room, squeaking loudly, and scrambled up Loki's shins into his lap. Loki was scratching their heads, apologizing for his abandonment and for shutting them up, away from the bad man-- the words sounded ironic even to him, although the kittens did not seem to think so-- when Annie appeared in the doorway. 

"You're back," she stated the obvious. 

"Yes," Loki agreed sheepishly. "I was just about to come looking for you." He gently tipped the kittens onto the bed, leaned forward to avoid bumping his head, and stood. It was cold in the room, and Loki was not at all sorry to follow Annie back downstairs to the lounge. A few moments later they were both sitting on the sofa-- all four of them, when you included a lapful of kittens-- and Loki was drinking a cup of tea while he described the route he had taken to Owen's new house. 

"Was Janey there?" Annie asked, looking down at her hands.

"I believe so," Loki replied gently. "I did not enter the house, but I had the sense of a second mind within."

"Janey's," Annie said flatly, finally looking up at him. 

"I believe so," Loki repeated. 

"Or maybe it was a goldfish," Annie muttered. "They've probably got the same IQ." Loki raised an eyebrow and she looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, that really was bitchy of me."

"Understandable," Loki murmured. "But she is not happy with him. You must not think she has _won._ I believe she is… afraid."

"Oh, no," Annie murmured, going pale. "He's doing the same thing to her, isn't he?"

Loki nodded. "I know you wanted to believe the best of him, to believe he might feel regret for what he did, but... it seems unlikely, Annie. I am so sorry."

"Not your fault," Annie said. Loki sent the mug of tea to sit on the coffee table and wrapped an arm around her. Annie leaned against his shoulder. "I suppose it was bound to happen: once I was gone, who was he going to push around? And poor Janey, she didn't have much more going for her than I did. When I knew her, she worked at a tanning salon and she was always _orange._ "

Loki nuzzled her hair. "I was unable to form an opinion concerning Janey, but I would challenge your assertion that _you_ did not 'have much going for you'."

"Oh, well," Annie said. "I mean, I wasn't working, I didn't really have any outside interests, I was just trying to get the house set up and the wedding planned, so I wasn't exactly the most interesting company-- "

"Wait, wait, wait," Loki interrupted, ruthlessly overrunning her words in a most unaccustomed fashion. "And exactly _why_ were you so bereft of outside interests?"

Annie shrugged. "We had just moved here. Owen had… Owen came here for a job." 

"All right. Owen had a job, where he met new friends. And you were new to the city, were mostly at home looking after the house, and so did not meet any people who were not introduced to you by Owen." A thought struck him, a memory of something her mother had said. "And what was it like _before_ you came to Bristol?"

"I was a student," Annie said. "But the people in my classes… Owen didn't like them. He didn't get along with my friends or my sister. I didn't see the other students outside of class, and… it was hard to catch up with my sister…"

"And your parents?" Loki asked gently. 

"He liked them. We just… we never seemed to find time to visit them. Or we'd make plans, and then something would come up." 

"Owen would be unable to go, and you would stay with him?" Loki guessed. Annie said nothing. Loki pushed a little harder. "When you made plans with Owen's friends, did 'something come up'?" 

"… No." 

"Ah. I wonder whether Owen has also begun to find fault with the friends of Janey Harris? And if, perhaps, things 'come up' when plans have been made with those she loves?"

There was a pause. Loki could almost feel her letting herself realize the truth. 

"He was doing it on purpose," Annie finally whispered, her shoulders going slack. And then, unexpectedly, and to Loki's utter horror, she said, "I'm such an _idiot_. How could I have let him _manipulate_ me like that?" 

Tightening his arm and turning toward her-- which caused the kittens to abandon his lap for the armchair-- Loki protested, "Wait a moment. You cannot possibly think it is _your_ fault that _he_ manipulated you. That is not fair-- you were lonely, and he is plausible, and-- "

"-- And he told me that he loved me," Annie said softly, while everything in the house seemed to tremble. 

"And that was a lie," Loki said quietly, although he knew, and he knew Annie knew, the truth was probably a great deal more complicated. 

"Yes," Annie agreed, almost inaudibly. Loki wrapped his other arm around her and held her close, aware in the back of his mind of gratitude that he could do so, that she had not become insubstantial and… defeated… again. 

"It was his loss, Annie. Really, it was," Loki insisted helplessly, although he knew at this moment his reassurances were pointless: there was nothing he could say to comfort her. 

So he kissed her. 

Which definitely seemed to help, or at least provide a distraction. And, incidentally, did not do Loki's mental state any harm either. Things… rather went on from there.

Which, unfortunately, led to everyone getting quite a surprise when Mitchell and George-- Loki had rather forgotten about them-- came home from work some ten minutes later. 

"Whoa!" Mitchell yelped, recoiling and throwing an arm over his eyes. He was possibly exaggerating his distress, but George's shriek of dismay certainly did not seem to be in any way embellished. Even as startled as he was, Loki thought the two of them were being overdramatic-- he was, admittedly, considerably disheveled, but he was after all still fully clothed.

Not that he had the presence of mind to argue the point just then. It would have been nice if he could have claimed, later, to have retained his dignity under pressure, but the fact was, in his efforts to scramble to his feet he actually fell off the sofa. 

"What are you _doing?"_ demanded George-- rather foolishly, really, since it must have been fairly evident. "We have to _sit_ there!"

"George, you're exaggerating," Mitchell said, with commendable fairness, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that suggested Loki, for one, had not heard the last of this. And might not. Ever. 

_"Exaggerating?_ " George squawked, indignation pushing his voice into the upper registers.

"Exaggerating," Annie confirmed, displaying more poise than anyone else in the room. Of course, as a ghost, she was more or less impervious to dishevelment, which was unfair. And also rather frustrating. "And beginning to hurt my ears," she added. George made a noise suggesting someone had stepped on his tail-- a comparison Loki for once had the wisdom to keep to himself-- and threw his hands in the air. 

"What would have happened if _Nina_ had been with us?" he demanded. 

"You would have learned a sharp lesson in the wisdom of providing advance warning before bringing mortals into our house," Loki replied with asperity, as he untangled himself from the coffee table and pulled himself back up onto the sofa next to Annie. 

Who snapped, "Yes, really. We _live_ here, after all. Well. You know what I mean." 

Mitchell rubbed the bridge of his nose, George took off his spectacles and wiped them energetically with the tail of his shirt, and Loki made an effort to change the subject:

"Was your day pleasant?" he asked, and then buried his face in his hands as he recognized the opening he had just offered. 

"Not as pleasant as yours," Mitchell sang. 

"Don't bet on it," Annie spoke up, patting Loki on the back. "We had Owen over this afternoon."

"Owen?" George asked. "Did he fix the boiler?"

Annie made a rude noise, and Loki replied, "He made a variety of authoritative-sounding noises. I think our best plan is to give up on landlords, find a craftsman-- excuse me, Annie, craftsperson-- and pay for the repairs ourselves."

"I wonder if Tony Stark knows how to fix a hot water heater," Mitchell said thoughtfully. 

"No, but I bet he knows how to convert one to a nuclear reactor," George replied. 

"Like Tony Stark would have anything to do with _nuclear_ power," Annie said, rolling her eyes. Loki glanced at her and then reached over to hold her hand. She gripped his tightly, and then after a few moments began to relax.

George and Mitchell were by now looking at Annie rather carefully. "Never mind the boiler," Mitchell said. "The hell with the boiler. Did he do anything… anything to upset you?"

"Apart from _existing_ , and being _inside my house_ , no," Annie admitted. The defensive outburst seemed to be passing off, and unfortunately so did any cheering effects of the recent… distraction. 

"When he departed, I followed him home," Loki reported, then raised his free hand to forestall any worried questions. "I was a starling. He did not recognize me." 

"Well, that's a relief," Mitchell muttered, dropping onto the other end of the sofa. "So Operation Haunt-the- Twat is about to begin?"

"Has done already," Annie said. "Loki told him all about Thor, Defender of the Weak, and then we arranged for him to catch a glimpse of me just as he was leaving." She almost smiled. "You should have seen his face."

"It was worth seeing," Loki contributed. "Were he inclined toward having a guilty conscience, that should have done it." 

"Not so much?" Mitchell asked. 

"No. And then he went home and bullied the woman with whom he now lives," Loki said. "I begin to think a little bullying of our own might be in order." He was looking at Annie as he said it, and she heaved a sigh. 

"I think you might be right."

"Before we get to that, though," George spoke up, "Loki, have you gotten any of the messages Catherine Bennett sent you this afternoon?"

Loki blinked. "No. I left my phone in my jacket pocket, and now I think of it, between Owen's arrival and my little adventure in bird form, I have not looked at it in some hours." 

"Well, when she couldn't reach you she texted Mitchell and then me," George said. "I assume you gave her our numbers?"

"She probably got yours off the lavatory wall," Mitchell suggested cheerily, looking at Annie out of the corner of one eye as he dropped onto the daybed opposite the sofa. "No, wait, that was me." 

George ignored him and went on, "She wanted to know whether we had made any progress in rescuing the dog, and whether we might like some help. Boost the signal, as it were. So we agreed to meet her and Agnes tonight, at the ruin, for a little eye of newt."

"Shakespeare again," Mitchell said, when Loki looked puzzled. "We've got a couple of hours before they're expecting us and I'm starving, so why don't we see if there's enough of that macaroni cheese from last night to go around?"

~oOo~

Mitchell turned the car off the road and shut off the engine. A few minutes later another car pulled up behind them and its lights switched off. A moment later, Catherine Bennett was tapping on Mitchell's driver's side window, and the four friends got out of their car. Catherine had an electric torch, and Loki conjured a handful of green flames to provide additional light.

"It is very kind of you to help us like this," Loki started to say to both Catherine and Agnes, behind her-- and then he was completely distracted by the third member of the party. "Hello, who is this?"

"This is Hardy," Agnes explained, with an expression of slightly disbelieving happiness, as she looked down at the large fluffy golden dog clinging to her left side. Her face, Loki thought, probably looked very much like his when he first contemplated Philip and Elizabeth. 

"He is very handsome," Loki congratulated her, as he crouched to extend a hand to the dog. "In fact, except for his coat he looks quite a lot like Nelson. Is he also a Labrador?"

"No, he's a golden retriever," Agnes explained. "It's a… I suppose you would say, a related breed. Margaret came with me to the RSPCA and he was there." She leaned down to rub Hardy's ears. The dog wriggled with happiness and leaned against her leg, looking up at her in adoration. "He was found as a stray and nobody's claimed him, but he must have been someone's pet. He seems awfully grateful to be rescued."

"He is fortunate to have found you," Loki remarked, conscious the dog was not the only fortunate one in the dyad. 

"His name," George spoke up. "Is that because he's-- ?"

"Friends with Nelson. Yes," Agnes replied, and she sounded rather sheepish. Loki seemed to recall those names from the book of naval history. "And now I hope we can bring your dog home, too."

"I hope so too," Loki agreed. He reached into the back seat of the car and retrieved a plastic container, of the sort normally used to store leftover food, while George went to the trunk of the car and brought out the spade. 

Hardy seemed happy to make the acquaintance of the ghost, the vampire, and the werewolf as well as the sorcerer. Loki recalled Nelson the Labrador having a similar attitude to those members of Loki's household he had met, and wondered again whether familiarity with Agnes Scott was responsible for this unusual level tolerance for supernatural beings, or whether it had something to do with being a retriever. He was beginning to suspect it was the latter. 

He also wondered what Scamp would have to say having about another dog in her territory. 

He had not long to wonder: long before their light sources illuminated the gateway of the churchyard, they could all hear excited yapping, and Hardy began to strain forward on his leash, tail held low and wagging vigorously. As soon as they passed through the gate, Scamp was bounding around Hardy, wriggling all over with apparent joy at the prospect of a new friend. Loki wondered how many dog walkers over the centuries had found their pets displaying strange behaviours when they came near the ruin. 

The dogs were both disposed to be friendly, and Hardy to stay close to both Agnes and Scamp, so the witch eventually cast a spell of confinement and concealment, and released the retriever from his leash. The two dogs promptly began taking it in turns to chase each other around the grounds, and then to retrieve sticks and the red plastic ball when Annie and George threw them. Once or twice Hardy seemed inclined to pass through the gate and invite Mitchell, a lonely figure under a tree, to play with them, but the spell turned him gently back and besides, he seemed far more interested in his new ghostly dog-friend than in his new vampire-friend. 

Agnes was finally able to pull her attention away from Hardy's antics, and turned to Loki and Catherine. The medium took the lead, asking, 

"Have you had much success in scrying for bones?"

Loki shook his head, feeling guilty that circumstances over the past-- was it really only two days?-- had conspired to prevent him practicing the skill. 

"I was able to locate what I believe are small caches of bones, but I was unable to see them very clearly," he admitted. "They could prove to be rocks, or… or the graves of children. Mitchell is very concerned, that I-- I mean, I have been careful to pay them no disrespect," he corrected himself, and assumed an expression of earnest sincerity, eager to show his deference to this convention, despite the fact he really did not understand it.

_Live_ children, or even the _spirits_ of children, Loki would defend to his last spark of sorcery. But the empty graves and abandoned bones of those long since passed over? Remnants too long forsaken by their owners to be of use even in spellcasting? Loki found it very difficult to feel much concern for their fate, especially since, if he was mistaken, he intended to quickly re-inter any remains he happened to dig up. He fully grasped the necessity to not be _caught_ at this activity, but he had the greatest of difficulty in understanding why, after all this time, it would _matter_. Everyone who had mourned these dead were themselves dead, and gone away. 

Catherine and Agnes both eyed him in the cool greenish light of his magical flames, and Loki found himself trying not to squirm. After a long moment, however, Catherine smiled. 

"Human sentiment doesn't always make sense," she said kindly. 

"That is not only true of humans," Loki admitted, letting go of his façade of sincerity in favour of the genuine article. "I really do not understand the problem, but I have been trying to respect it. There are small white stones marking the sites where I have identified possible locations of Scamp's grave. Should we divide them up, and each concentrate our attention on those few?" 

Agnes extended her hands to the other two. "I've done this sort of casting before, a time or two, when someone did not come back from hunting or gathering livestock. If you help me, I should be able to see clearly." 

The three sorcerers formed a loose circle, holding hands, breathing deeply and evenly. After a moment Loki felt a sense of alien power brushing against his own. It was slightly reminiscent of an occasion when the Professor Charles Xavier had attempted an incursion into Loki's mind, but less intrusive: instead of pressing him, the power seemed to simply be asking for admittance. Loki thought this might be how the rhinoceros and the ants had felt, when Loki tried to contact them, and he resisted the instinct to slam all his doors. It took him a moment to offer a sense of real welcome, but he at least allowed his mind to open to the visitor.

A moment later, Loki felt energy, warm and shining, flowing from and into himself, through the circle created by their joined hands. He closed his eyes and let it happen.

And a moment after that, he had the impression he was floating, bobbing like a balloon on a string, being tugged after the glowing power. Loki did not ordinarily enjoy the feeling of being out of control, but he found himself quite relaxed, brightly curious, and eager to see what Agnes Scott would find. 

The sensation of floating carried him gently across the churchyard, looking down at what seemed to be shapes shining from beneath the earth. Here was a collection of rocks, deposited by who knew what process. Here were tiny human skeletons, the little skulls oddly oversized compared to the features that made up their faces, vulnerable and alone in ways that were…wrong… for children. Looking down at them, Loki had a sense of regret, of apology. He was glad he had not disturbed them, after all. 

And finally, halfway between the church wall and the fence, huddled in a formless pile, there was a clutch of even more delicate bones, glittering whitely. Just the way they lay, as though their wearer had been cast down carelessly, gave the clue-- even before the shape of the skull, long-muzzled and with sharp teeth-- declared itself. 

_"Oh,"_ Loki heard his own voice coming from a great distance. _"I think-- that must be--"_

It took him a moment to realize his voice was only sounding inside his head, but even so, he was not very surprised when he heard Agnes reply, _"Yes. We seem to have found her."_

And then his hands were released, and he and Catherine were looking at each other, startled and perhaps a little wobbly. Agnes was already striding across the churchyard, to where the spade was propped against the gate. Hardy rushed up to her, proudly displaying a stick in his mouth. Agnes paused to ruffle his ears, accepted the stick, and threw it for him to chase. Scamp ran after him, but when the human-- bipedal-- members of the party began to gather, the two dogs joined them. 

"Have you got her?" Mitchell had come around the fence to stand as near the rest of the group as he could. 

"I believe so," Agnes said, without looking up from the place she had marked as the location of the grave. Annie leaned down to pet Scamp's head, and George took a half-step forward that drew Agnes's attention. "I'm sorry," she said. "Do you want to-- ?"

"Yes, please," George replied, and took the spade. Loki, remembering, went back to the gate and retrieved the plastic storage container.

Half an hour later, the small bones were carefully dug out-- with hands when the spade was no longer capable of the fine work. The dirt was carefully brushed away, the bones retrieved, and laid out carefully on the dead autumn grass to try to ensure they were all accounted for. 

Finally, Loki gathered them together and placed them in the plastic container. Pressed the lid into place, ensuring the edges were properly sealed, patted the square of sod in its old place on the refilled grave, and stood with the box in his hands. Scamp looked up at him, tentatively wagging her tail. Loki smiled down at her, feeling his breath come short. 

"Shall we try again?" he asked. 

The group walked around the church toward the gate, both dogs trotting in their wake, Scamp carrying her red plastic ball. As the rest of the party approached the gate, Scamp sat down in her usual place, dropping her ball between her front paws and looking wistful. Catherine walked out first, and then George. Annie took Loki's arm and they both-- Loki carrying the container of bones-- followed the other two. 

"Come on, sweetie," Annie called gently. Scamp shuffled her feet, whined anxiously. 

"Scamp, come with us," Loki echoed the sentiment. The ghost dog looked uneasy, but she had clearly learned the gate was an impassible obstacle. It was difficult to tell whether she still could not pass through, or whether she simply _thought_ she could not. 

And then Agnes called Hardy to her and snapped on his leash. The two of them went through the gate, and as he did Hardy turned back, _woofed_ at his new friend, and bowed in an offer to play again.

Scamp picked up her red plastic ball and dashed through the gate after him. 

There was a startled moment of silence, and then Annie scooped up Scamp, and Loki scooped up Annie, and everyone spent a moment hugging and jumping up and down. 

Scamp sat on Annie's lap all the way home. Loki, the box of bones at his feet, had an arm around Annie and a sense of hope bubbling up in his heart. 

Annie leaned against Loki, head resting against his shoulder. Without looking up from the eager little creature, who was looking out the window, she murmured, 

"So there's one thing that's gone right."

Loki tightened his arm and pressed his lips against her hair.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which we borrow a bit from canon, and Annie realizes she is not Banquo's ghost. However (with luck) maybe Owen might possibly be Ebenezer Scrooge. 
> 
> **Warnings:** This is certainly not a recommended method of introducing a new dog to kittens, but Loki doesn't know any better, and we know he can intervene if necessary. So let's go with it.

Scamp, having coped admirably with the car, also needed no coaxing to follow Annie into the pink house. Loki found himself wondering whether that was a reflection of Scamp's evident devotion to Annie, or whether she followed Annie because Annie was with Loki, and Loki was carrying the container of bones. It did not matter for the moment, of course, but Loki found himself hoping the confining spell had not simply followed the bones from the ruin to their home: he did not like the idea of Scamp trading one imprisonment for another.

Which, he admitted, made very little sense, considering the immutable rule that Philip and Elizabeth were not permitted out of the house. But they were kittens, and they were alive, and a city was filled with hazards to small living creatures. Loki hoped that, should Annie wish to stroll around the neighbourhood, Scamp would be able to accompany her, and not be confined to the house. 

And speaking of creatures who were not allowed out of the house…

Like Thor's cat form before them, Elizabeth and Philip had no difficulty in seeing ghosts. They viewed Annie, for instance, with appropriate adoration. 

It very quickly became apparent their attitude toward small canine ghosts was a great deal less loving. At the sight of Scamp at Annie's heel, Elizabeth-- in the armchair-- and Philip-- on the back of the sofa-- put on a display of arched backs and hissing that would have been impressive indeed, in creatures larger than a closed fist. Scamp stopped short, tail rising in a curl over her back, ears folded alertly forward, and looked intently at the kittens. 

Then she took a step forward, uttering a tentative _"wuff"_. Both kittens jumped from their perches and streaked underneath the sofa, growling ferociously.

Well, for a given value of "ferociously." They certainly gave it their very best effort. Scamp, for her part, lowered her head, and her tail began to wag. She tiptoed to the sofa and sniffed underneath it. 

Immediately, out snaked a tiny black-and-white paw, claws extended, and did its best to rake her across the nose. However, sensitive to magic as they were, the kittens were still mortal creatures, and Scamp was still a ghost. 

Scamp jerked her head back anyway, apparently motivated by the same instinct that caused Annie to duck when an object flew toward her. She sneezed, licked her chops reflectively, then dropped to her belly. She crawled forward, tail a happy blur, to shove her whole head under the sofa. Terrible hisses resulted, as though beneath the sofa two tiny teakettles had simultaneously come to the boil. Loki took a step forward, wondering how far he should let this go before he intervened. 

Scamp rolled onto her side, wiggling foolishly and paddling with her forepaws. Another kitten-paw lashed out and slapped her, this time across the toes. Scamp flipped onto her back, extending her forefeet under the sofa, back paws waving in the air. 

It was becoming evident that Scamp's patience with the kittens was considerable, which was cause for optimism: how long could two infants like Philip and Elizabeth continue to fear and distrust such a demonstrably friendly new member of the household? Had Elizabeth not tried to make friends with _Owen?_

Loki had his answer a moment later: while Scamp was apparently occupied with Elizabeth under the sofa, Philip crept from under the corner, stalked around behind Scamp with an expression of deranged predatory concentration, and then in a rush flew at and pounced upon the dog's temptingly wagging, feathery, ghostly tail. 

Scamp doubled up and flipped toward her "assailant," who launched himself onto the front of the sofa, where he clung by his claws and made a lateral rush, ears sideways and tail entirely puffed out, rather like a fluffy spider. It was the sort of performance Philip put on when he attacked feet under the bedclothes, a demonstration of how very wild and ferocious he was indeed. This was not how he behaved on the occasions when something really frightened him: Philip afraid was Philip underneath the sofa, refusing to come out.

And also Elizabeth, who now took her chance to fly at the distracted prey and pounce upon-- or perhaps it was more accurate to say _through_ \-- her. Scamp vaulted to her feet, spun in a circle, and then fled from the onrushing kittens, through the lounge to the entryway and back. It was, of course, evening, the time of day when experience had taught Loki that madness routinely descended upon Philip and Elizabeth. Scamp was a little less mad, but certainly willing to accommodate the antics of the two smaller animals. It crossed Loki's mind to wonder whether Scamp had ever had pups, and had perhaps played with them in a similar manner. 

As a ghost, Scamp had great endurance, but when Philip and Elizabeth had suddenly had enough, Scamp did not seem to mind: she followed them onto the sofa and curled herself into a small black ball next to the two even smaller bundles made by the kittens. She rested her chin on the cushion and perked her ears at Annie. 

Loki let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. Scamp's tail stirred, and when Annie came closer it began frankly to wag, which caused Elizabeth to flip over and bat at it. Annie sat down beside Scamp, rubbing the little dog's neck, and Loki squeezed into the space left between her and the arm. 

Really, if they were going to continue collecting pets at this rate, they might need to consider acquiring more places to sit. 

George and Mitchell elected not to fuss at Scamp, probably for fear of overstimulating her on her arrival. They sat on the daybed opposite the sofa, George leaning back and Mitchell with his elbows on his knees. 

Grinning, Mitchell suddenly asked:

"Are you sure it's safe for the two of you to be sitting over there together? Or should George and I just gouge our eyes out now and save time?"

Loki could almost _hear_ the blood rush to his face. Annie leaned on his shoulder and pressed a hand to her mouth. Glancing sideways at her and then at George and Mitchell, Loki realized he was, by far, the most embarrassed person in the room. 

He must have looked it, too, because Mitchell relented, saying kindly,

"Well, it happens to us all. Practically a rite of passage, really." George went suddenly crimson to the ears, which made Loki cheer up and wonder what story George might wish never to tell. 

"On this realm, perhaps," he said, rather than quiz George on the matter-- which he was sure would only end in making matters worse for himself. "And perhaps outside the palace of Asgard," he conceded, realizing that many there were likely to have shared common living areas, similar to those on Midgard. The palace was different. He could not imagine such an embarrassing event happening to Thor, or Fandral, or--

Well, perhaps to Fandral, come to think of it. 

And thinking of Thor reminded him--

"I should send a message to Jane," he announced. Then he glanced at Annie. "After that, we will discuss this plan of haunting. All right?"

"All right," Annie agreed. She smiled suddenly. "I'll go find my notepad."

Loki smiled back, suddenly nervous, and went to find the laptop. He carried it into the kitchen, set it on the table, and activated the wireless Internet connection and his email account. 

And then he sat, hands twisting together in his lap, and stared at the screen for what seemed like a very long time. After that, he typed and deleted and typed again before, sweating with frustration and anxiety, he reviewed his final message and pressed the button marked "Send." 

Closed down the laptop and walked back out into the lounge, where he sat down next to Annie again. 

"All done?" she asked, smiling brightly. 

"Very possibly," Loki replied seriously. Then he, too, smiled. "Ready to begin?"

Annie nodded. "Yes." She sat up very straight, nervous again, and took a firm grip on her notepad. "I've never really haunted anyone before," she explained. 

"I am sure you will be wonderful at it," Loki assured her. 

"You've haunted me lots of times, when it was my turn to do the washing-up and I forgot," George added encouragingly. Annie made a face at him, but she did seem to relax a little as she went on, 

"I feel like I should have a scary voice. Like this." Annie drew down her brows, narrowed her eyes, and uttered a drawn-out moan of, "Oooowennnn… Cooooonnnfeeeesssss." She paused, assuming an even fiercer expression-- well, for Annie-- and repeated, _"Connffesssss!"_

There was a pause, in which Loki was quite sure he was not the only one present who was re-evaluating Annie's talents in the arena of haunting. 

And then Annie herself deflated. "That was terrible, wasn't it?"

"I would not say _terrible,"_ Loki demurred. Annie screwed up her face at him, and Loki gave in. "Well, perhaps a _little_ bit terrible." As delicately as possible, he added, "It is just that you are… not horrifying." For a moment he paused, rather boggled by the extent of his understatement. The corner of Annie's mouth twitched as she watched him struggle for words. Loki would have made himself look twice as foolish, if it brought her even momentary comfort.

"Well, that's definitely not going to work," Mitchell spoke up, and George nodded. "Not unless we get you some chains to rattle." Annie tore a page from her notepad, crumpled it, and threw it at him. Mitchell batted it away. "Face it, Annie, you're not exactly Jacob Marley. Loki, we'll explain that later."

"I know of Jacob Marley," Loki protested. "He was the business partner of Ebenezer Scrooge, before he died and became a ghost."

"That's right," George said. 

"And he and his brother Robert visited Scrooge on Christmas Eve," Loki went on. 

There was a rather long pause. Then Mitchell asked, _"Who?"_

"Jacob and Robert Marley," Loki repeated patiently. "They appeared in the guise of old men, enmeshed in chains embellished with cash boxes."

"Jacob and _Robert_ Marley?" George repeated, looking very confused.

"Did I stammer?" Loki demanded, embarrassed and rather put out by the reaction.

Annie also looked confused for a moment, and then her expression turned to one of understanding. "When did you see _The Muppet Christmas Carol_?" 

"There is a picture book at the school," Loki explained. "I found it while dusting the shelves in the library. I believe it is adapted from an older story, but surely the characters are the same?"

"... More or less," Annie said. "There's a film, too. We'll have to watch it, closer to Christmas."

"And maybe read the original story by Dickens," George muttered. 

"Who is Dickens?" Loki asked politely. George's expression became apoplectic, and Loki kept a straight face a moment longer before confessing, "I am kidding you. I am familiar with Charles Dickens. He wrote the story of _Oliver Twist_." That had been one of the first books he read upon his discovery of fiction, and Loki still felt upset every time he thought about the dreadful ending, in which the kindly old man who looked after the youthful pickpockets was _hanged._ He went hastily on, "I am sure the original story was very good. Still-- "

"Everything's better with Muppets," Annie agreed. 

"Except perhaps real haunting," Loki replied thoughtfully. "I feel sure no one would be seriously alarmed if Grover came to haunt them."

"Grover isn't in _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ ," Annie reminded him.

"Well, no, but I like him," Loki told her. Annie punched him gently in the leg, and after he had recoiled appropriately, she said,

"You know what, there's another problem I didn't think of, about me trying to scare Owen. If I did confront him, it would… it would probably make him really angry." Annie's expression indicated she was remembering what Owen was like, when he was really angry. 

"Annie, he can't hurt you," Mitchell reminded her.

"No, but he can hurt Janey," Annie argued. "And I think she's a cow, but I don't want her to get hurt because of something _I_ did." 

"Considering that we know Owen is a man prone to cruelty, I hardly think anything he did would be _your_ fault," Loki pointed out. 

"Well, yes, but if I can _predict_ his reaction to something I might do, and it's bad-- it's probably better for me to try _not_ to do the thing that will set him off. If I can." 

Loki chewed his lower lip and thought about that. Both sides of the argument seemed to have merit, and besides, he wished no harm upon Janey. The problem was, this seemed to leave them with very few options for dealing with Owen. 

He had just allowed himself to wonder whether Hogun's offer was still open when he thought of something. 

"Do you know, something has occurred to me: recently, I have experienced dreams that left me… unsettled." _Unsettled_ was perhaps a ridiculous understatement, considering the state in which he had still been when he pounded on his brother's bedroom door, but it would suffice for the moment. He went on, "And you, Annie, have told me more than once that you long avoided sleep for fear of the sort of dreams you might have."

"Right," Annie nodded encouragement to him to go on.

"Well then, perhaps that is the course we should take," Loki suggested. "Rather than have you appear before Owen and attempt to frighten him by your… manner…" George and Mitchell giggled uneasily, and Annie made a face at them. Loki persevered: "There are some really quite straightforward spells that could preserve the illusion of sleep in Owen, and allow you to really talk to him. Is that perhaps a plan with some potential?"

Annie stiffened against him. Scamp shifted around to rest her chin on Annie's leg, and was rewarded with an ear-rub. The kittens woke up at the motion, then jealously scrambled over both Scamp and Annie to state their claim on Loki's lap. Loki scrubbed his fingertips down their spines and wished he was a big enough being not to feel gratified by this gesture.

And then there was a long moment of silence while everyone gave Annie time to consider the idea. 

"I think... that's probably the best idea we've had so far," she said finally. "Could we bring him back here, or make him think he's here? Actually, making him think he's here would be better, I don't want him anywhere near the house again if we can help it."

"That would be easy to do," Loki assured her. "A simple glamour should suffice."

"What about Janey?" Annie asked. 

"What about her?"

"Can we arrange for her to have a dream, too? So I can try to warn her?" 

"That sounds like a good idea," George spoke up. "I mean, obviously we can't _make_ her leave him-- " Loki nodded, reminding himself that he did not like it when others made decisions on his behalf _for his own good_ , and therefore, logically, humans would not care for it either. And besides, in a realm that permitted its citizens to choose even their own rulers, the implication was clear that important decisions were in the individuals' own hands. Even those who, when left to their own devices, made foolish choices.

"Very well," Loki agreed, and then laughed. "So you will, in effect, appear to them in turn as the Ghost of Christmases Past, and the Ghost of Christmases Yet To Come."

Just at that, there was an electronic tone from the pocket of Loki's leather jacket, hung on its peg by the door. This sound indicated that Loki had received a text message on his mobile. He extended his hand, and the device flew obediently from the zippered pocket to him. 

On the screen were the words:

_Skype me. Ten minutes._

The message was from Jane Foster.

Loki felt cold creeping from his belly outward to his limbs, a sensation rather like that of taking on his Jotun form, but more threatening. 

"I think I... would you all excuse me for a moment?" he said faintly. Annie looked at his expression, and then frankly leaned over to see the screen of his mobile. She read the message, put a hand on his knee, and said,

"You can go into the kitchen, or you can stay with us, if you'd feel better having us here while you talk to her."

"I may do that, if you do not mind listening to me splutter," Loki muttered. George and Mitchell looked confused. Loki belatedly realized they had not heard the story of his dream and his trip to Asgard, but it seemed too complicated to try to explain in the time he had before Jane would be expecting his call. 

He called the laptop to hand, rather than disturbing the kittens-- they were apparently still making a point, and every time he moved they clutched him with their claws, which was flattering in one way but rather uncomfortable in a physical one. 

It had not been quite ten minutes when Loki logged in to his Skype account, but Jane was waiting for him. Her expression, when the connection was established and he could see her, was concerned but not angry. 

Yet.

"Hi, Loki-- I just got your email," she said, without preamble. "I'm not sure I understood it completely, so I thought we had better talk."

If Loki had wanted to _talk_ to her about this, he would have called her in the first place. He had sent the email precisely because he wished to _avoid_ talking to her. 

And that, of course, was the sort of craven impulse he could not easily confess to, at least not to Jane. 

"Thor came to visit me yesterday," he explained, deciding the context was far too complicated to get into at the moment. "And I... I asked him... it occurred to me that we have never, in all this time, really talked about how he feels about my... my actions. Toward him. When he was, when he was with you and your friends."

Jane very kindly, and with really heroic self-restraint, did not reply, _You mean when you told him his father was dead and his banishment permanent, that his family and everything he loved was lost to him, and no one loved him any more? And then you killed him? That time?_ He thought, however, even with the lack of clarity on the laptop screen, that he could see the thoughts pass behind her eyes. 

"Go on," she said, in a restrained voice, all the new friendliness that had marked their recent communications gone. 

"So I asked him," Loki explained bluntly, before he could lose his nerve. "And his answers were... I think they were intended more to spare my feelings than to communicate his. I spoke to Annie on the matter, and she suggested I ask you to-- "

Jane interrupted in a tone of authority: "Loki, if he tells me anything, I will consider it in confidence between us. You have to understand I won't... report back to you."

"Oh no," Loki blurted, with a horrified sense of making matters worse with every attempt he made to improve them. "Nononono. I do not expect-- I would not ask it of you." There was a time when he would have, if he had been able to gather enough concern for anyone aside from himself to bother. There was a time when trust and confidentiality, being concepts that happened to other people, would have seemed a needless indulgence. 

Now, of course, things were rather different. "I only... I think he should talk to _someone_. And he can trust you, and... I do not think he would confide in his Aesir friends about this, because he-- " _wants them not to hate me again._ "Annie and I thought, if you were to ask him, he might feel better for the telling. I do not... need to know anything he prefers not to tell me himself. I just think it might be... good for him. That is all. Really." Despite how cold he felt, Loki was conscious that his palms were sweating. Silvertongue, indeed. 

Jane studied Loki through the computer monitor, head on one side, for what felt like a very long time. Then she nodded. "All right. 

"Thank you," Loki said, with desperate courtesy. "I am in your debt."

"I'm happy to do it for Thor," Jane said, her tone even. 

"Yes, of course," Loki agreed meekly, quite aware this might be the last conversation he ever had with Jane. Well, if that was the case you could not say Loki had not earned the outcome. He carefully wiped all traces of emotion from his face-- any sign Jane might interpret as Loki asking her for things he did not deserve, from anyone, but especially not from her-- and then pasted a smile on top. "Thank you, Jane. Thor is fortunate indeed, to number you among his friends."

He closed the connection and shut down the laptop before Jane could offer either the sort of response he deserved, or the sort Jane's inherent kindness might wrest from her against her will. 

His hands were trembling slightly as he leaned forward to set the laptop on the coffee table before him. 

"Are you all right?" George asked, after a moment. 

"Better than I deserve," Loki replied briefly, then turned back to Annie, struggling to collect his thoughts. "We should probably work out the details of our activities-- should we plan to confront Owen tonight?"

Annie looked thoughtfully at him. "Maybe not tonight. We've had a pretty full couple of days, and I don't know about you, but I think I need to sit and calm down a little bit before I do anything else." She scratched Scamp behind her ears, and the dog looked up at her adoringly. "We can make some plans, though. I might need a script."

Loki managed to smile at her. "I am sure you will do very well, no matter what we do." 

"I hope so. Jane won't be mad at you forever," she added, in almost the same breath. 

"And if she is-- " Loki began. 

"She won't be. You reminded her, is all, and I imagine it's freaking her out a little to think about it again, but she knew it already. She's already dealt with it once, and she knows you and Thor are both different now. She won't be mad at you forever." Annie's mouth tightened, and she said in an odd voice, "She might not forget, but she'll forgive." 

There was a very uncomfortable silence. Loki looked around uneasily, trying to think of something to say to break it. His eyes fell upon the plastic container filled with Scamp's bones, which had been left in the entryway, just beside the stairs. 

"We should find a more suitable place for those," he announced. "Perhaps they should be left with the boxes containing my Asgardian effects, in the basement?" 

"That sounds like a good spot," Annie said. "As long as it doesn't restrict how she can move around the house."

Loki carefully shifted the kittens and got to his feet. "I shall go look. Will you come with me?"

Annie rose reluctantly, and Scamp slithered off the sofa to follow her. Loki picked up the container of bones and carried it down to the basement. 

Once there, he pushed the container carefully behind the box he knew to contain the battered Aesir garb in which he had been dressed when he bounced off the roof and fell into the dustbins. Then he turned to Annie, to address the real point of coming down here in privacy. 

"What is it?" he asked bluntly. Annie looked at him in surprise, but Loki had decided this was no occasion for, as the mortals would say, beating bushes. "I know you spoke truth, when you said Jane would remember Thor's and my quarrels are ended. I am sure that is so, and it reassures me." This was perhaps not as strictly true as either of them wished it could be, but now was neither the time nor the place to discuss that matter further. Loki went on, "But when you were speaking of that, something else began to trouble you. What is it? Will you tell me?"

Annie fidgeted. "It was... I'm not sure... " She hesitated a moment, looking around the basement as if the solution to her concerns was to be found in the washing machine or behind the crippled boiler. And then she blurted, "Jane knows you weren't yourself when you attacked Thor. And _he_ knows you weren't. And I was thinking... maybe Owen... there might be a reason he is the way he is. There could be an explanation, something I ought to take into account... but I don't _care._ I want him to be sorry, to change, to regret what he did... but I _don't care why he did it._ And now I'm feeling really... I should care. I should-- "

Loki suddenly realized he was gaping at her, and closed his mouth. Then he immediately opened it again to say, as blundering as he had once considered Thor, "Are you _joking?"_ With some difficulty, he collected himself and lowered his voice as he went on, "What concern is it of _yours_ , what his reasons are, or whether he has any aside from spite and malice?"

"Loki, do you hear what you're saying?" Annie demanded. 

"Of course I do," Loki said impatiently. "I know I have been pardoned for terrible crimes. But I _also_ know, on Jotunheim, there are many people who will never, ever forgive me. And why should they? Is it their problem, to worry about my reasons or my excuses? Should they care _why_ I attacked them and killed their loved ones? Of course not. Should _you_ care _why_ Owen made your life a misery and then took it from you? Of course not-- it would be your right to hate him forever, and probably to poison his tea, except that you are a better person than either he or I. But as to his _reasons_ , that is of no matter, and nothing with which you should trouble yourself. He does not deserve your concern." 

Loki wiped his palms against his trousers, tension grinding in his shoulders. He recognized the contradictions in his words and his attitudes, at least so far as they contrasted with Thor and the forgiveness he had so freely extended. He would think about that later, some night when sleep eluded him. For now, he could only concentrate on the knowledge that it was not up to the _victim_ to heal the criminal, especially not when the crime robbed her of the few precious years of her mortal life. Perhaps one day Annie would really forgive Owen, but it was not her task, and she must not believe it so. 

Annie protested, "If I was a better person-- "

Loki, feeling rather hysterical, burst out laughing and embraced her. "Annie, if you were a _better person_ , none of us would have the temerity to live in the same house with you, and that includes Thor and Jane Foster." 

Annie punched him gently in the chest. "If I believed half of what you say, my head wouldn't fit _into_ the house."

Loki raised his eyebrow. "If you believed one-quarter of what I say, we would not be having this conversation." Annie leaned into him and Loki rested his chin gently on the top of her head. 

After another moment, Annie said quietly, "Remember when you mentioned talking to Catherine?"

After a moment, Loki did. "When we learned Owen was to visit. Yes."

"I think I'm going to call her," Annie said, her voice unsteady. At Loki's expression, she added quickly, "Not to talk to Owen. Of course not. But... I think I'd like to speak with my parents. I think... there are things we need to say to each other, too."

Loki tightened his arms around her, and pressed his lips against her hair.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which it seemed like time for a little cheery digression. And a couple of possibly not-quite-so-cheery ones. Also, again, since I still find myself a little confused about Janey and Owen's timelines, I consider myself free to make up my own interpretation of their relationship. 
> 
> Everything I know about the administration of British primary schools is gained from the Internet. In other words-- handwave, handwave, handwave. However, everything I know about eight-year-old outlaws was gleaned from several years teaching that age group-- which is the reason both for my gray hair, and also my random outbursts of reminiscent laughter.
> 
>  **Warnings:** My apologies for the rude remarks on the subject of tanning salons. I actually have no opinion on the subject-- but Annie does.

Loki carefully untangled the black-and-red threads before him on the table and studied the pattern of knots that was beginning to turn into stripes. He was examining his own wrist, trying to picture how much larger around Thor's was, when his attention was caught by a sound at the door of the custodians' room. He looked up and there, of course, were Trevor and Patrick. 

"Yes?" 

The boys fidgeted, and then Patrick spoke. "Ms. Hamoudi sent us. She says she's very sorry to interrupt your lunch, but there's a lot of water on the floor of our classroom, and…"

Loki set aside his project, stretched, and got to his feet. "Is there indeed? I wonder how that came to happen?" 

Patrick's freckled face turned rather pink. "Well, the sink in the back of the room got blocked, and-- "

Loki raised an eyebrow, and Patrick abruptly fell silent.

Patrick and Trevor were two of the most notorious miscreants in the school-- not that anyone ever said as much out loud, for fear of creating expectations the boys would feel bound to fulfill. Loki, with a certain amount of experience upon which to draw, felt confident the boys knew of, and felt pride in, their reputation. However, he also suspected the fact nobody spoke the words aloud also served to preserve a sort of escape route, for when they no longer wished to behave as outlaws. Really, Loki felt there was much to applaud in British primary education.

And, just at this moment, he also reflected the boys were not nearly the hardened criminals he had been at their age, because they exchanged genuinely sheepish looks before Trevor mumbled,

"Well, we-- our class-- is making a paper-mache model of Europe."

"Trev and me're doing Italy," Patrick contributed.

"That is the one shaped like a boot, yes?" Loki permitted himself a digression. The boys nodded, and Patrick went on,

"And, well, we were sort of washing out a tub of newspaper and flour paste and that and the drain got sort of clogged and then the sink filled up and now there's a lot of water on the floor and-- " 

"I see," Loki said. "Was it perchance the newspaper that caused the drain to become clogged?" 

"I think so," Trevor admitted. 

Loki nodded. "And were you perhaps a little curious to discover how much newspaper the drain could accommodate, before such an event occurred?" The two boys traded guilty glances, and Loki went serenely on, "I ask merely because such a question might have occurred to me, as well."

"Um," said Patrick. Trevor said nothing. Both of them looked even more sheepish.

"Although," Loki said thoughtfully, "I rather think I would have turned off the water before the sink actually overflowed. Unless, of course, I was attempting a test of how high I could let the water rise before I did so, and whether I would be quick enough to reach the tap before any flooding occurred. I do not suppose such an experiment would have crossed either of your minds?" 

"… Um," said Patrick, and Trevor wriggled. 

"And, my questions having been answered," Loki said, casually pocketing his collection of black and red threads and turning to gather the appropriate equipment to deal with the situation, "I would, of course find it unnecessary to conduct further investigations into the matter. Certainly not at times when I was intended to be gaining valuable knowledge about our partners in the European Union. Incidentally, what is the primary export of Italy?" 

"Spaghetti," said Patrick. 

"Fiats," said Trevor. Loki, heroically, did not laugh. 

"I feel sure Ms. Hamoudi will be most impressed with your knowledge," he assured the two boys, as he accompanied them down the hall. "As well as the dispatch with which you carried out your mission to bring assistance." 

Recognizing that the scolding-- such as it was-- had ended, Patrick and Trevor led the way toward the Year Four classroom, down hallways decorated with watercolour paintings on coarse white paper, lined with coatracks elbow-high to Loki. Halfway to their destination, Patrick was emboldened to ask, 

"What were you doing, when we came in?"

This was, of course, an impertinent question, which called for correction. Therefore, Loki replied, 

"I had thought to make one of these 'friendship bracelets' for my brother. He is unlikely to wear it with his armour, but he might like to have it." He could keep it in whatever safe place he had secreted his little red collar with the bell, and the catnip mouse that had provided him such enjoyment in his cat form. 

Patrick frowned. "That's for _girls._ " At Loki's raised eyebrow, and significant glance at the colourful bands on his and Trevor's wrists, Patrick clarified, "I mean, _making_ them is for girls."

"Indeed?" Loki drawled. "I begin to feel you would do well to have a serious conversation with my brother's shield-companions, the Black Widow and the Lady Sif, about what sort of endeavours are 'for girls'."

Patrick looked annoyed at Loki's lack of comprehension. "They're _ladies,"_ he corrected. "Not _girls._ That's _different."_

Loki gave up-- Ms. Hamoudi was doubtless better-equipped to deal with this issue, anyway. Perhaps Tamsin and her friends could also provide whatever correction might be required. In spite of his unquestioned fondness for Patrick, Loki found himself greatly cheered to think of the form such a correction might take. 

Ms. Hamoudi was certainly glad to see Loki and his cleaning equipment. She also sympathized with his newly-discovered thirst for a deeper understanding of the European Union, and especially of that very important member, Italy. Filled with a teacher's natural wish to further his knowledge, she therefore assigned Patrick and Trevor to compose informative essays, each three pages long, and to deliver them to her in the morning. She would then present them to Loki for his edification, and the boys would of course be prepared to answer any questions he might have concerning the agriculture, industry, and government of that most fascinating nation. 

Trevor and Patrick accepted their fate with reasonably good grace, all things considered, and Loki hoped they had learned the most important lesson of the trickster-- _Do not get caught._ (Loki had made considerable headway in the matter of morals since his arrival on Midgard, but really, there were limits.)

His gambit had the unexpected side-effect of Tamsin and her boon companions volunteering to compose similar essays about Spain and Portugal. Loki accepted the offer in the spirit of gaining further understanding, but it was agreed that these papers could be delivered at their convenience, and directly to the custodians' room, without intercession by Ms. Hamoudi. 

Who was trying very hard not to laugh as she saw him to the door of the classroom. However, instead of closing it after herself and returning to her students, she stepped into the hall and gestured for Loki to wait a moment. 

"Loki," she said quietly, "are you happy here?"

Loki froze, clutching his mop and recalling that Ms. Hamoudi was, in addition to being the classroom teacher for Year Four, also the deputy head teacher of the school, second in authority only to Mrs. Kingston. 

"Yes, very happy indeed," he replied, choking down a sense of foreboding: her question had sounded alarmingly like a prelude to the suggestion that he might find himself even happier elsewhere, and perhaps should make arrangements for this without delay. He was frantically reviewing his recent history, trying to think of some reason the school would not want him any longer, when Ms. Hamoudi went on, 

"I'm asking because, well, we would really hate to lose you, but Mrs. Kingston and I have both been concerned that this job really doesn't seem awfully well-suited to a young person of your abilities, at least not over the long term." Loki resisted the panicky urge to point out that he was more than nine hundred years old, and also that his "abilities" were really not of the most practical nature and not particularly well-suited for any other remunerative occupation. Ms. Hamoudi went on, "So we thought we might suggest-- you're obviously very good with the children, and although your educational qualifications are… "

"Unorthodox," Loki suggested, gradually becoming aware that, whatever she was getting at, it was probably not going to end in his employment being terminated. 

"Well, given they were granted by a planet with a very different school system to ours, yes," Ms. Hamoudi said, with a straight face. "But-- obviously, I don't know if you have any long-term plans at the moment, and I am aware you have… other responsibilities." Which was a delicate way indeed of referring to the whole business of his being the Avengers' _magical consultant._ "Anyway, Mrs. Kingston and I thought we would mention, we both think you have the makings of a very good teacher. There are equivalency examinations that could qualify you for the university system, and you could arrange for part-time study if you wanted to continue here, in addition to your… other responsibilities."

Loki blinked at her, hands gradually relaxing and his heart settling into a calmer pattern. 

"That is… more than kind of you," he said finally. "Might I consult with you, at a later date, on this matter?"

"Oh, certainly," she said quickly. "We just thought we should make the suggestion before someone else made you some sort of offer and we lost you." She smiled. "And thank you for the help, with the mess and with the boys."

"I look forward to learning from their essays," Loki said, beginning to smile himself. "I am sure they will be most informative."

"I have no doubt," Ms. Hamoudi said drily. 

Suddenly stricken with conscience, Loki found himself blurting, "You are of course aware of my… mythological reputation?" He was about to explain that it was all fictitious-- except, well, for the part about being a troublemaker of some renown-- when Ms. Hamoudi laughed. 

"If you do decide this is a career for you, I'll show you my old school reports," she offered. "It's not a bad thing, to have few teachers with insight into the kids who are… characters."

Loki swallowed, reflecting that his own genuine past-- no matter what pardons had been granted by other realms, or dispensations extended by this one-- was considerably worse than a few bad school reports. Ms. Hamoudi must have seen something cross his face, because she added, 

"It's just something to think about. At some point you may be ready to do something else, and you know that, according to your visas, you have the right to work and go to school in this country as you choose, without restriction." She glanced over her shoulder, back into the classroom. "I had better get back. I'll make sure you get those essays."

"I will eagerly await them," Loki promised. "And…thank you." 

Ms. Hamoudi smiled. "Glad to," she said, and withdrew back into the classroom.

~oOo~

George changed in the locker room, oblivious to a stream of chatter from Mitchell, the only other person present. Mitchell was not ordinarily a morning person, but he seemed bent on filling the void left by George's silence. 

"… and I think, if he moves the bedside table, he still should be able to fit the rhinoceros into his room even when it's full grown."

George finally turned and looked at his friend. " _What_ did you say?" he demanded.

Mitchell smiled. "There you are. Where were you?"

"What?" George repeated, his ears heating up. 

"Come on, George, you were miles away. What were you thinking about?" Mitchell prodded gently. Then he amended, with a grin, "Or rather, _who_ were you thinking about?"

George grimaced. "All right, yes, I was thinking about Nina. Is there anything wrong with that?" 

"Not a thing," Mitchell said, tilting his head winsomely. George, immune to winsomeness, threw a shirt at him. Mitchell tugged it off his head and threw it back. "It's just that I would have expected you to look a lot soppier. You know, the way Loki does when he thinks about Annie." The two friends paused to envision it. "All sort of… mushy," Mitchell clarified helpfully. "You've got definitely mushy inclinations, I'd have thought. So what's the problem?" 

George sighed, Mitchell patted the bench next to him, and after a moment's hesitation George sat down, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees.

"It's all this… all this with Owen and Annie, and everything. I've just been thinking…" he began. Mitchell sobered, waiting for George to go on. Finally, painfully, he did: "I'm just… worried about Nina."

Mitchell nodded. "And why are you worried about Nina?" 

George sighed. "I already told you that she's… complicated."

Mitchell's eyebrows climbed. "She's a tiny bit psycho, George." 

George's face flamed. "If you're only going to make fun-- " he muttered, starting to his feet. Mitchell grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back. 

"No, wait, hang on a minute. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're making me nervous, and I get silly when I'm nervous. I'm sorry. What about Nina being complicated?"

George stopped trying to pull away. "It's just that she's… angry, in ways that I think probably mean she's been hurt pretty badly already. That _somebody_ hurt her pretty badly. And _I_ don't want to be the one to do it next." 

Mitchell let go of George's wrist as though he had only just remembered he was still holding it. 

"Oh, come on," he blurted. "How can you possibly… George, you are the least likely candidate I can think of to hurt Nina or, or let her down." George didn't respond, and Mitchell went on, "Do I need to remind you that we live with an actual, literal _prince,_ and _he_ looks up to you as his example of how to behave?"

"That's not such an accomplishment, considering the standards of early child care they seem to have in Asgard," George muttered. 

"Yes, well, agreed," Mitchell said. "But the point is, even with Thor and the Avengers and all, Loki uses _you_ as his standard for… for being _decent_. Don't give me that look, you know he does. And you've never let him down, ever. You won't let Nina down, either. And you deserve-- you _both_ deserve-- to be happy. Sometimes you have to take a chance." 

"This isn't exactly your ordinary 'taking a chance,' though," George replied, dropping his voice to a desperate hiss despite the fact they were alone. "It's one thing to take a chance on a relationship not working out. It's quite another to risk _tearing her to shreds_ if I get careless."

"And when have you ever been careless?" Mitchell demanded.

George went on as though Mitchell hadn't spoken. "And then there's the matter of never being able to make plans on the night of the full moon. Don't you think she'll get suspicious about that, eventually?"

Mitchell's face suddenly tightened. "One night a month? Really? Well, poor you. I can't imagine how rough that must be for you, being able to have a reasonably normal relationship thirty days out of the month. The last time I was with a woman and _didn't kill her_ was in about 1968, and I still don't really know _why_ I was able to resist that time. And despite knowing there is _no safe way_ for me to be with someone, despite knowing how easily losing control in one area can cause me to lose control over everything else-- I miss it, so much. I'd do almost anything to-- 

"I don't begrudge you or Loki being able to… The only reason I haven't kicked _him_ in the arse already, repeatedly, is he obviously wasn't ever taught anything about other people except how to defend himself from them, so he's really doing pretty well, considering. _You,_ on the other hand… George, I know it's risky. Of course it's risky. But you're... You _know_ what it's like to lose someone, to get hurt, and to want _not_ to hurt the other person. It sounds like she does, too. You and Nina would be _good_ for each other."

"Aside from the risk of rending her limb from limb," George shuddered. 

"And the risk of her being too defensive and prickly to let you get near her, or letting you get just close enough to have your heart broken when she decides she can't handle it after all," Mitchell shrugged. 

George narrowed his eyes. "If that was meant to be reassuring-- "

"Not really," Mitchell admitted. "Just a reminder she's not the only one who'll be risking something. You're more evenly matched than you probably think. And I should also tell you, I'm going to be jealous sometimes. That goes without saying. You'll probably need to kick _my_ arse a time or two. But that doesn't mean I won't be happy for you, if it works out. Really. Go... do something about it."

George got to his feet, looking determined. "Right. I'll... right. Thanks, Mitchell."

Mitchell offered a smile that looked rather like a grimace. "Anything to help." His expression softened, became genuine. "No, really. Go."

George went. 

~oOo~

Annie poured her third mug of tea into her third clean mug of the morning, added milk, and then walked into the lounge. She set it on the coffee table next to the two that had already gone cold and scummy, and went back to pacing the lounge. Scamp and the kittens watched her progress. 

"We should go get your basket back, shouldn't we?" Annie addressed the ghost dog. "And your other toys. Do you miss your chewy bone?" Scamp wriggled in pleasure at being addressed, and Annie managed to smile at her. 

As restless as she felt, Annie didn't think it would be a good idea to take Scamp back to the ruin to retrieve the belongings they had forgotten in the excitement of the rescue. It seemed cruel to Annie to even think of making her return to the place she had haunted for so long. 

Haunted... Annie hugged herself, looking around the lounge, to the entryway and the beaded curtain that masked the kitchen doorway. She had haunted this place for months, before George and Mitchell moved in. And she hadn't been an entirely friendly presence, either: not when the first sets of prospective tenants had been young couples themselves, looking forward to their lives together, full of plans for turning _her_ home into _theirs._

She had remembered being full of plans, too. What she hadn't remembered until a few days ago was how full of apprehension she had also been. It felt strange to her, now, to think about those times and to really remember them. The question of _why_ she had been unable to remember them was one she didn't have the inclination to think about. It might have been a little like some of the things Loki hadn't been able to remember-- the reason he'd cast the spell on Sif's hair and then cut it, for instance. He'd remembered the-- well, Loki seemed inclined to call it a "crime," although in Annie's opinion that was going a little far-- and the aftermath, but not the precipitating incident, apparently because it had been so painfully humiliating he hadn't even let himself think about it. 

"Painfully humiliating," now that Annie thought of it, was a fairly good description of her own feelings toward her time with Owen. How could she have let him make her feel so worthless, so _small?_ How could she have convinced herself that her whole... her _value,_ was tied up in winning the approval of someone as inconsequential as _Owen?_

Really, the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Remarkably, though, nothing blew up or went flying, which was a relief. Maybe she had finally gotten a grip on the whole poltergeist thing. Or maybe now that she felt more in control of her anger, the poltergeist side had settled down a little, too. 

And maybe, despite the memory impairment, she had still taken something of value from that time. Look at the way she had immediately reached out to Loki, when she'd found him in the back garden, confused and frightened and just as lonely as she had ever been. It hadn’t crossed her mind to be afraid that Mitchell and George would be angry at her for taking him in. When she was alive, it seemed like she spent all her time afraid that someone was going to be angry at her for something. Not just Owen--

Annie cut off that train of thought before it could go any farther: that was a sure way to end up fielding household items. Instead, she turned away from the things that had frightened her during her life, and thought about the things she had gained in her afterlife. 

Friends, first of all. She remembered the moment she realized that George and Mitchell were able to see her, which was such a shock that it had taken her a little while to realize what a _relief_ it was. She hadn't really thought about being a ghost, about being part of a _category,_ a _community,_ a supernatural being like other supernatural beings. She had thought she was completely alone and always would be, isolated, unable to make contact with anyone else except by moving their belongings, leaving them creepy little messages, _scaring_ them. 

Loki seemed to believe he was the only one who had done stupid, unproductive, unkind things to cope with his loneliness, to say _I am here_. One of these days, she should probably talk with him about that. As nice as it felt to have him think she was _good,_ it would probably be even better for him to face the fact he wasn't the only one who could be petty and foolish. She wasn't completely sure he believed that. And besides, Annie knew the awareness wouldn't change his opinion of her, knew she didn’t have to pretend to be perfect, always patient-- _Nice._ She knew that Loki _knew_ she wasn't always nice, and loved her anyway. She could be _herself_ , and Loki-- and George, and Mitchell, and all those other people Loki had listed to her-- would still like her, want to be friends with her.

There was a world of relief in knowing that. It was only a shame that she'd only learned it after she was dead. 

Annie paused in the middle of the lounge, thinking about that. Janey Harris, the man-stealing cow, wasn't dead. And every indication Loki had picked up had said that, man-stealing cow or not (and really, was Owen a prize worth fighting about, worth calling Janey names over as if Janey was the only one who had done anything wrong?)

Janey Harris wasn't any cleverer than Annie, or any more confident, and as far as Annie knew, Janey's family-- if she even _had_ one-- wasn't in Bristol, either. There was no reason to think Janey would be any better at getting herself out of a trap than Annie had been. 

She wondered whether Janey still worked at the tanning salon. Whether anyone wondered why someone who worked at such a place was so careful to wear long sleeves. It was almost a given, that there would be days that called for long sleeves.

Annie made a decision. 

Picked up her two cold mugs of tea and the still-warm one, carried them to the kitchen, and washed up. 

Then she came back out to the lounge and said brightly to Scamp, "Do you want to come for a walk?"

Scamp flattened her ears eagerly against her head, and wagged her tail.

~oOo~

George caught up to Nina just as she was going on her morning break. He stopped by the nursing station where she was updating a patient's electronic record, waiting for her to acknowledge him. 

After a moment, she did, looking up with the smile that brightened her formidable little face and made her look so much younger than her usual grim one did. The smile made her look the age she actually _was._

George swallowed, managed to smile back. "I was wondering if... um. Would you like to come with me for a cup of tea?"

Nina made a face. "In the canteen?" 

"All I can offer, I'm afraid," George admitted. 

"Good thing we're used to it," Nina replied, saving her work and closing the file. She turned to the other nurse on the station. "I'm going for my break, all right? When I come back you can go for yours." The other nurse nodded, and a few minutes later George and Nina had mugs of dubious canteen tea before them and were sitting at a table in a quiet corner. 

Nina looked around, eyebrows delicately raised. "I'm not sure I like this business of being cut out of the herd. Is there a Serious Conversation in the offing? Because if there is, you should know my break isn't anything like long enough for one, and neither is yours." 

George took a gulp of his tea, regretted it immediately, and breathed deeply. "Nina, I have to-- "

"No, I definitely don’t like the tone of this," Nina murmured. "Is this the bit where you tell me I'm a wonderful person but you don't deserve me and I should find someone else?"

"Half right. No, two-thirds," George replied, which actually drew a reluctant smile. "No, I just need to..." He picked up his tea, decided against tasting it again, put it back down. "I just need to tell you, it's been years since I've met anyone I like as much as you. I think you're... smart, and strong, and funny..." Nina tilted her head to one side, in much the way Mitchell had, except that she was being assessing instead of winsome. George winced at the suspicion in her expression, though he couldn't say she didn't have every right to some misgivings. He certainly _sounded_ like he was about to end things with her-- whatever you called "things" when they'd only managed to get to this nameless stage. 

He went hastily on, "I'm just... I need to tell you, make sure you know... things are a little complicated on my end."

Nina sat up straighter, eyebrows flying up her forehead. " _Complicated?_ Last time I got _that_ line, it was shorthand for _I have a wife and kids in Cardiff._ But she didn't _understand_ him." 

"No, no, nonono," George spluttered. "I'm not married." Painfully, he added, "Never have been." Something in his tone brought Nina's hackles down. "I'm just... there are things about me that I can't tell you just now. And I don’t like acting as if I don't trust you, or... value your confidence. I just can't talk about... certain things. And I thought I should bring that much out into the open right now, because you deserve someone who is completely honest with you. I just can't be, and I can't... always predict when I won't be able to... " 

Oh, this was sounding madder by the minute. George looked down at the tabletop, then in desperation picked up his now-cold and more-than-dubious tea and gulped half of it. 

When he looked up, Nina was looking at him with a thoughtful expression. Whatever reaction he had been expecting, that wasn't it. 

Then she leaned toward him across the table. 

"Are you talking about the Avengers?" she asked. George frankly gaped at her. No, he _definitely_ wasn't expecting this. Nina went on, "Because, well, I won't deny that whole idea worries me, but it's not my place to tell you to stop helping them if they need you."

George found himself stuck on the vital piece of information in this speech: "It _worries_ you?"

"Of course it does," she replied impatiently. "I know you're smart, and I can see all sorts of ways you could really help them, but of course it worries me, thinking about you in the middle of something like, well, like that thing last summer." _That thing last summer_ was of course the battle against Hydra and their alien allies the Dire Wraiths. 

"To be honest, I was really mostly translating," George assured her. 

"And that was how you ended up on the BBC news, firing rockets at alien spaceships," Nina said. 

"Um," George replied. "Well, Agent Coulson, from SHIELD, needed an extra pair of hands." He'd actually ended up with _two_ extra pairs of hands, but of course Mitchell could not be seen by the news cameras. It was fortunate things had been so confused at the time that none of the crews had noticed someone missing in their footage. 

"I'll admit, I was a bit upset at your friend Loki, for getting you into such a mess," she added. "Which was unfair of me, since it probably wasn't his fault-- I just assumed, because of his brother-- "

George, remembering what had happened to Loki in the clutches of a Wraith-controlled SHIELD, barely suppressed a shudder. "No, it definitely wasn't his fault. Although we-- Mitchell and I-- did meet the Avengers through him." Yes, the _other_ time Loki had been illegally arrested by SHIELD. Really, when you thought about it, it was a wonder Loki even consented to leave the house unarmed. For all the flaws he claimed in his own character, he was certainly still surprisingly trusting. 

"I've always wondered, how did he even end up with you?" Nina asked.

"Um," George spluttered. "It's... sort of a cultural exchange thing."

Nina looked amused. "You mean like a gap year?" 

"Um. Yes. In a way," George nodded. And then he was struck by what Nina had just said. 

"What's that smile about?" she asked. 

"You were worried about me? _Last summer?_ " he asked, trying with limited success to suppress the goofiness erupting in his expression.

Nina pursed her lips. "Well, yes. A little."

"Oh," George said, grinning foolishly. For a conversation he had feared would end extremely badly, this bore all the signs of turning out rather well for him. 

"Don't get carried away," Nina muttered, but she was smiling, too. 

~oOo~

Annie had never spent much time in tanning salons during her lifetime. For one thing, her complexion didn't really need the help. For another, she preferred the look of leather on handbags, rather than her face, thank you very much. 

But she found the address of the salon where Janey had last worked, looked it up on a city map, and then set out to look the place over. 

"Let's go," she said brightly to Scamp, in the "go walkies" voice her auntie used to use with her terrier. Despite the fact dogs in her lifetime had probably not "gone walkies," and despite her centuries-long history of being trapped in a ruin, Scamp seemed to grasp the concept immediately. And, despite the concerns Loki had expressed, about the possibility of Scamp being bound to the location of her bones, the dog followed her without hesitation, eyes sparkling and tail curled over her back. The kittens, asleep in the armchair, didn't seem to notice them going. 

Annie consulted her mental map and set off down the street, reflecting that at least, like Scamp, she wasn't tied to her haunt anymore. It was hard to remember exactly when she had started to be able to leave the house. Certainly, when Loki arrived she had been pretty much limited to the house and garden. It was only later, during those early troubles with the vampires, that she'd begun venturing away from the house. 

Annie still wasn't sure whether she had really been _unable_ to leave the house, or simply hadn't had the nerve to _try._

And she also wondered, now, whether that lack of nerve had anything at all to do with her being recently dead. 

Never mind, that didn't matter now. 

She stepped into the salon, Scamp clinging close to her side, and looked around. They were in the reception area, looking around at vinyl chairs that were pretending to be leather, and before them a low table with travel magazines fanned out, as if for the convenience of clients planning where they should take their new tans. There was a high counter, like a nurse's station, next to the hallway that presumably led down to the tanning stations. 

There were no customers this early in the morning, it seemed as though the staff was just getting ready to open. Not that there was much activity going on at the moment. Behind the counter were two women, both of them younger than their sun-damaged skin made them look. Annie didn't know the taller woman with the piled-up bleached hair, but the dark-haired one with the silly little round face was Janey Harris.

Janey was just as orange as Annie remembered her, but there was certainly no glow to her. She looked tired, her eyes were dark-shadowed, and she held her shoulders in a miserable defensive hunch that made Annie's tense in sympathy. 

The girl with the bleached hair was looking at her with an expression of worry and exasperation. 

"You can't go on like this, Janey," she said, in a high complaining sort of voice. "Look at you, you look like you haven't slept in days, and not in a good way, either."

Janey wrapped her arms around herself, hunched tighter. "I'm fine," she protested. "Everything is fine."

"You don't look fine," the blonde said relentlessly. "In fact, for a girl whose fella just came back from overseas you look like hell. You've been looking like this since he arrived." Janey's mouth worked, and the blonde softened. "I know it's been hard for you, him with someone else first, and then going off to Saudi the minute she was gone, but-- has it ever occurred to you, maybe he doesn't _mean_ anything serious?"

"He _does,"_ Janey protested, in a forlornly stubborn little voice. "He _loves_ me." 

"Loves you so much he wouldn't leave that other girl for you, even after you moved here to be with him." Janey opened her mouth to protest, and the blonde raised a hand. "Don't, Janey. Don't even say it. I've been holding my tongue all this time, but now he's back and you have _got_ to _think._ " The blonde began, ruthlessly, to tick off elements on her fingers: "He was happy enough to have you as his bit on the side, when he was engaged to that other girl-- what was her name, again? I feel creepy calling her _that other girl._ "

"Annie," Janey muttered. 

"Right. Annie. He was engaged to Annie, and he was sleeping with you-- "

"Because he really wanted to be with me," Janey protested, in a childish voice. 

"Annie _died_ , and he still wasn't with you," the blonde snapped. "He took that job in Saudi the minute she was in the ground, and sure, he shagged you when he was home for a visit, but if you think he was pining for you the whole time he was over there--"

Janey finally flared up. "Shut _up,_ " she snapped.

The blonde didn't flinch. "And now he's back, and he's moved in with you, and you think you've won. Has it ever occurred to you that he just _needs a place to stay?_ That maybe, when he settles in to his new job and decides to look for a place of his own, he'll also decide to look for _another girl?"_

Janey stood up. "Shut up. You're wrong. You're wrong. We're together, and he loves me, and-- "

"And he's treating you like shit," the blonde said tiredly. "You were so happy and excited when he was coming home, and you've been drained ever since he's arrived. Either he's a vampire, or he's treating you like shit."

Janey pressed trembling lips together for a moment, then said in a choked voice, "I'm going to check the loo's clean."

"Thanks," said the blonde. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Janey-- "

"I'm going," Janey repeated, pushed past the blonde and disappeared down the hall behind the counter. 

Annie stood still for a moment, watching, as the blonde pressed her fingertips to her eyes in what seemed like exhausted frustration. She muttered something that sounded like, 

"Poor silly little bitch," and started to log in the computer before her, where the appointments calendar was probably kept. 

Annie patted her thigh to encourage Scamp to stay with her-- which was silly, since of course the two girls couldn't see her. She still felt a little glow when Scamp wagged her tail and fell in beside her. 

Annie tiptoed down the hall-- which, again, was silly, but she couldn't help herself-- peeking into every room that she passed. The first four contained tanning beds and little other furniture except a place for the customers to leave their clothing while they cooked in the eerie, coffin-like beds. 

The fifth room she looked into was the loo, and Janey was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, face buried in her hands. Annie leaned against the door, looking at her with unwilling sympathy. 

Janey looked up suddenly. "Who's there?" 

Annie froze. "Can you see me?" 

It was pretty clear Janey couldn't: she looked around the little room as if she thought someone might be hiding in the paper towel dispenser. Still, it was equally clear she could feel _something_ in the room with her. 

_Someone._

Janey stood up, hesitantly, defensive despite apparently thinking herself alone. She looked around again, then opened the cabinet under the sink and brought out a caddy of cleaning supplies. She cast one more apprehensive look around, and Annie stepped forward. 

"Your friend is right," she said. "Owen doesn't care any more about you than he did about me."

Janey froze, then repeated, "Who's there?" She was trembling, obviously worked up, and much more spooked than seemed to make any sense, considering she had to believe she was alone. Unless she believed in ghosts. Maybe she did-- she was exactly the kind of credulous dope who _would_ believe in ghosts before she had any proof of their existence. 

Annie had believed in ghosts, too. And in Owen's love. She was still a little astonished at which of these beliefs had turned out to be valid.

Annie was quite sure that Janey couldn't hear her. Not _hear_ her. But Janey definitely knew someone was there, and Annie decided there was no harm in trying. 

"He's going to hurt you, too. He might not kill you, but he'll definitely hurt you. It's how he knows _he's_ real."

Janey put down the cleaning supplies and bolted out of the lavatory. 

Annie looked down at Scamp, sighed, and then picked the dog up. 

A moment later, they were in the science classroom at Loki's school, where Loki, fortunately alone, was scrubbing the shelves of a storage cupboard. He looked up in surprise as Annie materialized next to him, and as he registered her expression, his became alarmed. 

"Annie, are you all right?" he whispered, in case a human should pass by in the hallway. 

"I think so," she said. "I've just had sort of a strange morning."

Loki made a face. "I believe that makes two of us."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** For fellow North Americans, "courgette" is apparently the name used, in Britain, for what we call a "zucchini." (Contrary to what was told me once by a little boy I knew, who informed me that a zucchini is what girls wear when they go swimming.)
> 
> I have no idea whether Temple Meads Station is open all night, but for purposes of the story can we please pretend it is.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Fairly mild but very disrespectful language.

It was a thoughtful set of friends who sat down to tea together that evening. At least, they were all very quiet. Part of their silence, it was true, was owing to concentration on their meal, a Moroccan recipe Loki had found while searching for foods seasoned with something other than the nearly-ubiquitous garlic. This being one of his split days, in which he went early to open the school, then back later to close, Loki had accompanied Annie to the house at mid-day and put the ingredients together while they told each other about their experiences of the morning. Annie had then set the meal to cook in time for everyone to gather that evening. 

"This," Mitchell said at length, "is really good. Is that cinnamon?" Loki nodded, and Mitchell made a little humming noise as he speared another forkful of vegetables. "Nice," he said approvingly. 

George used a piece of bread to mop up the last of the sauce on his plate, consumed it, and sighed. "I feel equal to almost anything right now. What are you up to this evening? Operation Haunt-the-Twat about ready to begin?"

"I think it might have started already," Loki said carefully, glancing at Annie, who sat at the other end of the couch. George and Mitchell turned their attention to her. 

Annie shook her head. "Good news first, I think. Loki, tell them about the offer your deputy head made you this morning."

"It was not so much an offer as a suggestion," Loki corrected scrupulously. Turning to his curious friends, he explained, "Ms. Hamoudi-- perhaps you have heard me speak of her-- " it was apparent from their expressions of suppressed amusement that this was an understatement. By now, they probably all knew what each inhabitant of the school most preferred for lunch. Loki felt himself blush, and he hurried on, "I was leaving her classroom after cleaning up... something... and she stopped me, to ask whether I might be interested, at some point in the future, in pursuing-- " he gulped a little, suddenly aware of the preposterousness of the idea, then blurted, "teaching qualifications. Apparently, there are means by which I may be able to compensate for my lack of secondary education on this realm, and having done so I may apply to the appropriate university programs like any other resident of this realm." He was aware, even after all this time, of a ridiculous little glow of pleasure at the notion of having rights "like any other resident." 

There was a period of silence that doubtless felt longer than it was, and then both George and Mitchell began to giggle. 

"What?" Loki demanded, looking from one to the other and trying not to feel hurt. 

Mitchell shook his head, gesturing helplessly. "Sorry. Really, Loki, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I'm just imagining... your lesson plans. The magical trips through history, or possibly the circulatory system. They'd be the greatest thing ever."

Slightly mollified, Loki pointed out, "There is, of course, a curriculum that must be followed-- " for some reason this made Mitchell howl, and George giggle harder-- "but I suppose there would be a certain amount of room for-- "

"-- Enrichment activities," George spluttered, and then, with a great effort, sobered. "No, really Loki, that sounds like a great idea, and a really good fit for you. I'm sure you'll be terrific at it." 

Looking at his friends, Loki was suddenly stricken with conscience. There was a reason why George and Mitchell held the sort of inconspicuous jobs they did, and Loki had been meant to follow their lead: the idea was to keep what Mitchell called a "low profile," so as not to call attention to themselves, and thus to the local supernatural community. 

Well, Loki argued to himself, it was not as though providing basic educational foundations to small children was exactly a glamorous occupation that called attention to itself. And besides, they had all attracted about as much attention as one could imagine, last summer, and still managed (with the aid of some magic, and a little assistance from Director Fury of SHIELD) to conceal George and Mitchell's identities, and also their supernatural status, from the general public. The nine-days-wonder aspect of their activities in New York had also passed, after the press-confounding charms on the street and their workplaces had made further information impossible to gather.

And anyway, the inconspicuous jobs had also been meant to avoid the notice of the local vampires, which had been a failure from the very beginning, long before Loki showed up. Still, since the death of their former leader, the vampires had been fairly quiet, making no recent efforts to subjugate the humans or bring Mitchell back into their bloody fold.

All of which, Loki realized, meant that George and Mitchell were as free as he, to pursue other employment if they wished. They should probably be encouraged to think about the idea. 

At the moment, though, Loki selfishly focused on the potential future that had just opened up for him. It would be a lie to say he was not greatly tempted by the prospect. In fact, he could not, at the moment, think of any employment he would like better. It was only that he also found himself envisioning a great many complicating factors. 

For instance:

"I fear, though, that my activities with the Avengers would present difficulties. Even if I am never kidnapped again-- " he flinched as he uttered the word, as if superstitiously fearing that simply raising the possibility might cause it to actually happen-- "I can hardly expect, were I responsible for a whole class, to be allowed to simply disappear on Avengers-related missions during the school year. It is bad enough now, even with Carol being so patient and willing to allow me to make up for lost time and neglected duties."

"Maybe it's time SHIELD started compensating you for your time and efforts," Mitchell suggested. He looked at his empty plate. "Does anyone else want seconds? I can just bring the dish in here." When everyone who wanted more food had some, Mitchell returned to his point. "Up to now you've been-- I was going to say 'a volunteer,' but now I come to think of it 'abductee' is more accurate-- anyway, admittedly Fury's been pretty good about helping you pick up the pieces after these adventures, but maybe what they need to do, if they plan to keep asking you for help, is to work out in advance how to cover for you. You know, send a replacement to do your work at the school when SHIELD or someone needs your particular abilities."

Loki studied his food, turning over a slice of courgette with the tines of his fork. "Yes, that would be much more convenient for Carol," he agreed slowly. 

"But you don't like the idea," George prompted. 

"Of course I do," Loki protested half-heartedly. And then he heard himself admitting, "I only thought... what if Carol and Mrs. Kingston decided-- "

Annie extended her hand, and the pink spray bottle suddenly came flying through the beaded curtain from the kitchen to her. She squeezed the trigger once to prime it before aiming at Loki. 

"If your next words are 'decided they like the other person better,' you are getting your face washed," she announced, firing a short warning burst. "When you vanished last summer, _we_ didn't just go out and find another housemate, did we? And surely you noticed how quick the school was to give you your job back, when you turned up at last? Do you really think they'd have hired someone else in the first place, if you'd been able to let them know you were _still alive_ and wanted to come back?"

"Well... " Loki began, then yelped as a jet of water splashed into the side of his head. "All right! They consider me irreplaceable and I have no reason to worry!"

"Good answer," Annie grinned, setting down the spray bottle. Loki, pushing his wet hair behind his ear, made a face at her. 

"Incidentally," George spoke up, indicating the bottle, "that was pretty cool."

Annie looked startled. "It was, wasn't it?" 

"It was indeed," Loki agreed, leaning over to congratulate her properly. Mitchell finally grabbed the water bottle and fired a burst to retrieve their attention. Loki sobered, and then somehow found himself spitting out the concern he had been unable to share with Ms. Hamoudi:

"The other problem is, of course, the whole matter of my... my criminal past. I have of course made a clean breast of it to the intelligence agencies who made the recommendation for my visa-- " he had really had little choice, since they had consulted with SHIELD, and that agency had all the pertinent facts at its disposal-- "but..." 

His friends looked at each other, and then at him. 

"I know I keep talking about it," Loki said, into their silence, "but it keeps being _true_. I know, beyond any doubt, that I would never do such things again, but… I _did_ do them. And, surely, I will not be allowed to-- " Mrs. Kingston and Ms. Hamoudi certainly did not know of the things he had done, and he had no intention of telling them, even though he had been pardoned for everything. There was a reason he had lied and cheated on his original criminal records check. But it occurred to him that, if there was another such scrutiny in his future, he would feel horribly compelled to be honest about it. 

Everyone was thoughtful for a moment, before Mitchell said, 

"Well, you don't have to worry about that yet. And not for quite a while, probably. The first step is to do something about your secondary school qualifications, and your… legal history... doesn't have any bearing on that."

"No?" Loki asked, hopefully. 

"No. You have a perfect right to go ahead with that. And I don't think it'd make any difference to a regular undergraduate degree, either. It'll take you some time just to get through those steps, especially if you're studying part-time and still working. Years, certainly. And then, if you're still interested in applying to a teacher training program, well, maybe the best thing to do would be to go back to MI5 or whatever, and ask them exactly how much you have to admit to, about crimes you committed on other planets."

Loki chewed on his lower lip, thinking about it. 

"That is true," he said. "Except, well, they were not _all_ committed on other planets."

"The worst ones," Mitchell said patiently. _The ones where death was permanent,_ he meant.

Loki turned the suggestion over in his mind. His excitement had been rather badly dashed by the thought of this barrier, but now some of the enthusiasm began to creep back. Whatever happened, there was no harm in taking the first steps. He spent such a lot of time reading anyway that a set course of study could only be welcome, would give him an organized way of learning about this realm. 

And, regardless of what happened, there was still warmth in the idea that someone who knew him _now,_ someone he admired and looked up to, thought he might have the ability for such an important profession. That they would seek him out on purpose to make the suggestion. Even if it turned out that his prior actions really had disqualified him from such a future, the suggestion alone felt like a commendation. 

And it would also be agreeable-- and new-- he thought, to have something to work toward, a goal, a thing he wanted for its own sake, instead of to take it away from someone _(Thor)_ , or to use it to gain the approval of someone else _(Father and Mother)_. He would not even have to tell anyone in Asgard what he was doing if he did not want to-- not because they would disapprove, but because it was his own and he did not need to ask leave of them. 

He would confide in Thor, of course. Later. Sometime. But for the moment the idea made him feel uneasy, and he did not really want to think about it right now. 

"Well, anyway, that was my morning," Loki murmured, finally spearing the courgette on his fork and consuming it. "Annie, yours was really the more important encounter." Annie picked up the spray bottle and shook it at him. Loki ducked elaborately, arms over his head, but Annie sobered as she turned to their two friends.

"We have to do something about Janey," she announced. 

This pronouncement did not have quite the effect she probably expected. 

"Um, Annie, I'm pretty sure Hogun's offer doesn't apply to her," George spoke up. Loki snatched up the spray bottle, but before he could fire it Annie glanced at the book case. The naval history came buzzing toward George's head, made a low pass, and then returned to its place on the shelf. Scamp and the kittens, in the armchair together, watched its progress with interest, but it was as nothing compared to the reactions of the housemates: George and Mitchell practically threw themselves to the floor, and even Loki was frankly slack-jawed. 

"Now that really was impressive," he remarked, over George's mutter of, "That thing is going back to the library _tomorrow."_

Annie looked as startled as anyone, but justifiably proud of herself. "It was, wasn't it?" She took a moment to accept congratulations, then hastily told the others about her visit to the tanning salon, and her strange almost-encounter with Janey. 

"Her friend is worried about her," Annie said, "and I reckon with very good reason. She really does look like she's ready to have some sort of breakdown. She's got to get away from him, but she hasn't the sense to go. We're going to have to do something."

Loki got up and began to collect his friends' plates. "Then tonight we shall arrange for you to interview her. I am certain you will be very convincing."

~oOo~

The street where Owen and Janey lived felt vaguely threatening by night, or perhaps Loki was simply oppressed by the atmosphere of the house before them, the misery that filled it. Janey was unhappy because her fantasies of love had turned upon her. Owen was unhappy because… well, of course, Loki only assumed Owen was unhappy, because he found it impossible to believe a creature who wrought such harm upon others could really experience happiness himself. 

The house itself seemed to exhale sorrow, and as he and Annie approached it, Loki found himself thinking uncomfortably of a question that should have occurred to him long since. He loved the pink house, thought of it as the home where they were all so happy, but--

"Annie, do you object to living in our house?" he asked. 

Annie blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"Our house," Loki repeated. At her look of confusion, he haltingly tried to explain himself: "I just wonder… You know how I am about my old chambers in Asgard." There was no need for him to elaborate on that remark: Annie was perfectly aware what distress he felt whenever he was compelled to stay in those rooms. It did not matter that his relations with his family, with Asgard, were improving, not yet: inside those rooms he still could not escape the damp chill of loneliness, fear, and anger that had gnawed into his marrow when he lived in them. 

And knowing this about himself, why had he never asked it of Annie?

He was asking it now: "Once, you were unable to leave our-- your-- _the_ house, but now I feel sure you could go elsewhere, if you preferred. If you would be happier in another place." Loki refused to think of the possible consequences to their household that might result from Annie's response. If Annie wished to leave the house, Annie must feel free to go-- and to ask for what she needed from Loki, and all her friends. 

But, to his immeasurable but (he hoped) concealed relief, she was shaking her head. 

"No. It's not the same for me. I know you hate those rooms at the palace, but the thing is, you _remember_ being miserable the whole time you lived in them. And now when you go back, that's the only feeling you have about them. I _thought_ I remembered being happy in our house, when I was alive. And then, by the time I remembered differently, I really _had_ been happy there, with the boys and with you. I _have been_. It's _our_ house now, and… I don't think I've ever been so happy anywhere else. I don't want to leave."

Loki had tried to conceal his apprehension, but now he allowed a smile of relief to break across his face. "I am very glad. And now, I suppose, we should see what is to be done about Janey and Owen."

~oOo~

After a brief discussion, Annie decided that she should speak first to Janey: she freely admitted that, by the time she had dealt with Owen, she might have little in the way of patience or understanding left to soothe his victim. Loki found himself in wholehearted agreement with her attitude. 

Loki led the way upstairs, treading softly down the hall and peeking into the rooms he passed. The occupied bedroom was at the back of the house, on the left. Through the parted curtains of the window, a streetlight illuminated the two sleeping figures in the bed. Annie, her whole body tense, held back at the door while Loki crept inside to cast his spells. 

Really, the magic was the easy part: Loki cast a powerful sleeping spell-- the same enchantment he had once used to immobilize the Hulk-- on Owen, then a mild glamour on himself. The glamour was so that Janey would not notice him when she woke, even though he intended to have a hand on her so that she could see Annie. 

When Annie was in position, he leaned down and called Janey's name. 

Janey's eyes opened. For a moment she resembled a confused child, blinking and looking around. Loki quietly stepped behind her as she sat up, set the glamour on himself, and placed his fingertips gently on her shoulder. 

"Hello, Janey," Annie said, with a kindly smile, from her seat at the foot of the bed. 

Janey jerked backward with a little shriek, which was understandable: thanks to yet another layer of glamour, Annie looked greyish, insubstantial, and exactly as one would expect of a ghost. Janey, who was wearing a peach-coloured negligee which made her look rather like she was dressed in her mother's finery, clutched the quilt to her breast and quailed backward. Loki could see her face reflected in the mirror on the chest of drawers: her eyes were wide and her mouth hung foolishly open.

Annie refrained from rolling her eyes, and held to the friendly smile. "We need to talk."

Janey's reaction was predictable: first she screamed, then she tried to wake Owen, then she pulled the quilt up around herself and whimpered. It was piteous, and aggravating, and Loki suspected he found it so because there was nothing he could do for her, his role being to keep quiet while Annie did the talking. 

Fortunately, Annie was more than equal to the task.

"Janey, calm down. I'm not here to hurt you," Annie said, her tone filled with the same reassuring warmth with which she had once addressed a lost creature in outlandish clothing, as he sat on the edge of her sofa wondering what was to happen to him next. 

Janey sniffled. "What do you want from me?" she quavered.

Annie shook her head, her smile almost motherly. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me? How?" Janey's eyes were wider than ever. 

Annie leaned forward a little, and Janey did not recoil. In a perfectly gentle, matter-of-fact tone, Annie said, "I think you already know. Janey, you need to leave Owen." 

Janey's mouth fell open again, and then colour rushed into her face. Loki could feel heat flushing her skin where he touched it. 

"Oh, no," Janey argued childishly. "No. You just want him back, but you can't have him, do you hear me? I won. I _won._ Owen is with me now, and he loves me, and you can't take him away from me." 

Loki kept his touch light as he fought the urge to seize Janey by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. He vaguely wondered how often his own activities had engendered the same urge in those around him. 

Annie, meanwhile, was a hero: she shifted herself to sit, cross-legged and apparently at ease, at the foot of the bed. Then she examined Janey with her head tilted gently on one side, and said,

"Of course I don't want him back. I'm a _ghost_. Jealousy, passion, lust-- I'm past feeling all that."

Based on the sofa incident the previous afternoon, Annie was lying, but her words seemed to convince Janey. 

"Well, if you don't want him yourself, why do you want me to leave him?" she asked. 

"Because he's not a safe person to love," Annie said, still in the calmly factual tone, as though listing the principle exports of Italy. "He hurt me, the whole time I was with him. He's hurting you now."

"That's only because he-- " Janey fell abruptly silent, although whether out of loyalty to Owen or in self-protection was hard to tell. Quite probably Janey did not know herself. Annie certainly seemed to understand. Even Loki, though his experience of shielding those who hurt him had occurred in a very different context, could comprehend her motivations. 

"I know," Annie sighed. "He's having a rough time at work. The move was stressful. He had an argument with someone else and you asked a question at the wrong time. You should have known better than to bother him just then. And then he's sorry, and it'll never happen again. Until the next time. I know all about it." 

Janey did not reply right away, but her expression made it clear Annie's words had found their target. 

"He doesn't mean to hurt me," she finally mumbled. "He just... he's not thinking when he does it. And then he's sorry."

"If he was really sorry, he wouldn't do it anymore," Annie said remorselessly. "Let me guess, he has you convinced he needs you, you're helping him to change, and if you only could do a better job at it, he wouldn't end up hurting you. That's it, isn't it?" Janey's mouth compressed, and Annie leaned forward again, expression intent. "It's funny, I've learned quite a lot since I've been dead. And one really interesting lesson is this: nobody can change anyone else. You can support them, and you can love them, but they have to make the changes for themselves. And if they're serious, they accept the responsibility is on _them_ to stop hurting other people, not on the other people to _make_ them stop. Owen isn't going to stop hurting you, because Owen _likes_ hurting you, just the way he liked hurting me."

Janey's voice was a breathless whisper. "That's not true. He would never-- " She fell abruptly silent.

Loki held his breath, barely resisted his own urge to flinch. Annie sat up straight again, eyebrows lifting. It was not hard for either of them to complete the sentence Janey had been about to utter. 

Still softly, she said, "You know what he did to me. You know he killed me."

Janey went smaller, clutching the covers harder. Her silence was all the answer they needed. 

Annie shifted again, this time pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. The posture made Loki want to release Janey and go to Annie. Instead, he gave her the most comforting look he could manage, and held his post with his fingers on Janey's shoulder. 

"I don't think he meant to do it," Annie said, after a moment. Her tone explained rather than excused. "He was really angry. He misunderstood something I had done, and he was too angry to let me explain. We just happened to be at the top of the stairs when he caught me." Annie paused, as if to remember. Loki took the moment to imagine, but had to push the images from his mind, in case he did something to Owen that would completely put paid to any chance of his being accepted into a teacher training program someday. 

Annie, with monumental self-control, shrugged and repeated, "I'm quite sure he didn't mean to do it, but he certainly isn't sorry about it."

"It wasn't his fault. It was an accident," Janey whispered, as if that excused everything: not being sorry, failing to tell the truth to the police, lying to her family, going on with his life as if nothing had happened. 

Picking out another victim, and starting over.

"It wasn't, you know. Not really. He might not have exactly meant to kill me, but he certainly didn't throw me downstairs for my _health_ ," Annie said, with an edge to her voice now. "And anyway, who's to say _you_ won't have the same kind of accident?"

"He wouldn't really hurt me," Janey protested, big tears welling out of her eyes and beginning to stream down her little round face. 

"Why not?" Annie asked harshly. "Because he _loves you_ so much? More than he loved me? He asked me to _marry him._ Whatever he felt about me, he wanted me enough to want to keep me, and then he hurt me anyway. He _killed me_ anyway. He might never kill you, Janey, but it won't be because he loves you so much. Normal people don't deliberately hurt _anybody_ \-- strangers, people they don't like-- let alone people they _love._

"Owen _likes_ hurting people, and he likes having girls like you and me in his life, because he can hurt us and get away with it. Because we make excuses for him that let us keep imagining we're important to him, and we tell ourselves that if we could only figure out the right thing to _do_ , everything would be fine. As if we have any control at all over what he does, or feels. _He feels nothing._ Not for us, or anyone but himself. I don't think he knows we're even _real."_

Janey was obviously neither as bright nor as insightful as Annie, and of course she also suffered under the considerable handicap of still being within Owen's orbit, her own needs and wishes not even secondary to his, but nonexistent. Even so, it was clear from her expression that she was having difficulty resisting Annie's arguments. She opened her mouth, probably to bleat once again that Owen loved her, but then closed it without making a sound. 

Annie gazed at her for a moment, her expression one of strangely detached compassion, and then, unexpectedly, she moved forward and kissed Janey on the forehead. She drew back, looking for a moment strangely like a fairy godmother in a modern legend, and said, her tone gentle again,

"You have to leave him, Janey. You know you do. For your own sake, and for your own safety." Janey gave no response. Annie glanced at Loki and nodded. 

Under the spell, Janey did not register the presence of anyone behind her, any more than she felt the hand on her shoulder. Loki mentally pressed down on her mind, casting the sleeping spell. Tomorrow morning she would probably believe this was indeed all a dream, but unlike many dreams she would remember it clearly. And, Loki hoped, she would also remember the suspicions-- or perhaps knowledge-- it had drawn out of her concerning Owen's guilt. 

Janey lay docilely back down, and Loki pulled the covers up around her shoulders. 

"Well," he said, "short of abducting her ourselves, I think that is all we can do. Do you need a moment before-- ?"

Annie nodded. "I think so." She moved away from the bed, and Loki toward her. She let him wrap his arms around her, leaned her head into his shoulder. He hoped the gesture was comforting to her-- it certainly reassured Loki that she would permit it, considering the similarities--

Annie spoke again. "I don't think it's going to work. I think she needs him-- needs _someone_ \-- too much. I don't think I would have gone, either, if someone had tried to help me. I only got away by dying." Loki tightened his arms. Annie squeezed back, and said, "You were luckier."

 _"I?"_ Loki repeated stupidly. 

"Yes. They-- especially Thor-- really _didn't_ mean to hurt you, and they really _do_ love you. That occurred to me, while Janey and I were talking. How much, aside from that, the three of us actually have in common." 

Loki, who had of course been reflecting on the resemblance between himself and someone else entirely, found himself too flabbergasted to make any verbal reply. 

Annie did not seem to expect one, and so they stood in silence for a few moments, until she felt ready to confront Owen.

~oOo~

Owen opened his eyes to find himself standing halfway down the stairs, his hand on the railing. Below him was the entry hall. 

But it was not the entry hall of the house he lived in with Janey. The banister under his hand was scuffed, in need of refinishing. Below him, the flooring was black-and-white tile. 

And lying on the tile, a twisted little figure, eyes half-open, one arm outflung and the other hand up next to her head.

Owen, without noticing the hand on his shoulder any more than Janey had, muttered a curse and started forward. "Am I never going to be rid of you-- ?" 

He reached the bottom of the stairs, leaned over the body, and then recoiled as the half-open, staring eyes suddenly focused on him. 

"Hello, Owen," Annie said, without raising her head from the pool of blood that had collected under it. 

Owen gaped. "What are you-- ?" 

Annie smiled. Even Loki, looking at it over Owen's shoulder, found it in the present context a rather creepy expression. "I think we need to talk. About what you did. What you're doing."

Under Loki's hand, Owen was rigid. Just for a moment, it felt like fear-- of being caught, perhaps, if nothing else. But-- perhaps-- it could be remorse. Realization. A dawning awareness that he had hurt a real person, someone who was more than her role in Owen's comfort, his convenience. Perhaps--

The shoulders under his hands were shaking, and Loki realized, to his horror, that Owen was _laughing._

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" he sneered. "My God, not even being _dead_ can stop your whining. _Owen, I want. Owen, I need._ As if I _care._ As if a little bitch like you is good for more than one thing, as if I couldn't replace you like _that."_ He snapped his fingers and laughed again. "What you _need,_ what _all_ of you _need,_ is to understand that you're _lucky_ I looked at you twice. A _fashion student_. A _shop girl._ You were lucky I ever bothered with you, you and that stupid little cow Janey. As if I don't deserve better."

It abruptly came to Loki that Owen's interpretation of this supposed dream was exactly the opposite of what had been intended. Owen apparently considered this a golden opportunity to deal a final punishment to the victim who had dared escape him before he was finished destroying her. 

He glanced past Owen's shoulder toward Annie, who was frozen in place. Perhaps she recognized the triumphant expression on the face glaring down at her. Whatever the reason, she seemed incapable of further speech. 

Before Owen could say another word, Loki intervened. 

"Annie," he said urgently, "go home. Please go." To his relief, her eyes flicked to his and regained focus. He nodded. Annie, without changing her position, vanished, taking the black-and-white tile and the scuffed old staircase with her. Loki and Owen were left standing in the modern entrance of Owen and Janey's wretched new dwelling.

Owen, under the dream-spell, did not turn to see who was behind him. Loki let his hand slide from the shoulder up the back of Owen's neck, allowed his long fingers to wrap themselves around it. Loki was not as strong as his elder brother, but even without ever having done so he knew he could, with a single squeeze, crush the spine of the creature before him. 

Not enough to kill him, mind. Just to ensure the rest of his life was spent at someone else's convenience, and someone else's mercy. How long would it be, before anyone who called Owen _friend_ found they could manage quite nicely without him, before Owen's world became limited to the walls of some facility, and the impersonal ministrations of professional helpers with other, more engaging, responsibilities?

It was a terrible thought, an evil thought. Loki felt no shame for it, none at all. One does not need to feel shame for entertaining such fantasies, if you do not intend to carry them out. 

Loki permitted himself two breaths in which to cherish his ugly fancy. And then he took in one more deep breath, exhaled, and as he drew in his next he called on another spell, one given extra strength by the anger that filled him. 

In the blink of an eye, they were standing outside Temple Meads railway station, under cover of a glamour. Loki let it gradually fade from Owen, so that passersby would find themselves with confused but convincing memories of the sleepwalker, clad only in boxer shorts, walking up to the station under his own power. 

There were people enough present to ensure Owen would not freeze, even on such a cold night. Loki had enough confidence in the general decency of humans to be certain of that. Owen was an exception to the general rule of this realm, and he would come to no real harm. He would merely regain his senses in a situation that confused and embarrassed him, and probably the police would take him home. It was a stupid, pointless act of spite, and Loki did not regret it in the slightest.

Still wrapped in the glamour and so hidden from mortal eyes, Loki left Owen standing on the pavement and took himself back home. He arrived in the entry hall, on the black-and-white tiles. Annie was huddled up on the sofa, obviously waiting for him. Loki approached her, moving cautiously. 

"Annie? I am sorry, Annie. I confess I did not foresee things going quite as badly as that."

Annie wiped the tears from her eyes and sat up straighter. "It's not your fault. I should have realized it was likely-- I'm the one who knew him. I just hoped... Thor was so sorry he'd hurt you, when he realized... and you were, too, when you did... I just hoped..."

"Thor is not the same sort of creature as Owen," Loki murmured, dropping to the sofa beside her. Annie moved over to cuddle into him. 

"Neither are you," she said softly. "Don't think that for one minute. You aren't, and you never were." Loki wrapped his arms around her, and after a moment Annie said, "I suppose that's it, isn't it? There's not much more we can do, if he doesn't even have as much conscience as Macbeth."

Loki leaned his cheek against her hair and said, "It is much too early to give up. We might not be able to make him feel remorse, but I have not yet abandoned the idea of punishment. However, we must decide what form an acceptable penalty would take. I confess, at the moment my mind is turning more toward mythology than British justice. I think I could probably find a suitable serpent, but I am stymied by the matter of the entrails. Quite apart from not wishing to harm some innocent person, if the requirement was for them to come from someone beloved of Owen, I must assume the only candidate is Owen himself."

Annie laughed weakly. "I should tell you that's a horrible thing to even joke about."

"Oh, I know it," Loki agreed readily. "But as long as we have no intention of actually doing it, the joke is mostly harmless." He sighed. "No, this is not something we can deal with tonight. We should leave it until tomorrow, when our minds are a little clearer."

"Okay," Annie agreed. 

"I should go to bed," Loki said, without moving. "I have to work in the morning."

"Right," Annie said, also without moving. Loki finally began to shift, and Annie caught him by the hand. "Stay with me tonight?"

"Of course," he replied, pressing his lips against her hair. Annie turned in his arms, and-- between one thing and another-- it was some time before either of them made another attempt to rise from the sofa. 

It really was just as well George and Mitchell were safely asleep in their rooms.

Loki was in a state of considerable dishevelment when his mobile phone, in his jacket on the floor beside him, began a cheerful racket of loud music and voices singing:

_"Ev'rybody-- ev'rybody-- ev'rybody wants to be a cat!"_

Loki made a grab for the device before it woke up the household, tumbling off the sofa again and wondering why in the Nine his brother would be calling at this hour. Of course, if Thor was in Midgard, he was certainly somewhere in the United States, where it was still daytime. Thor was no better at converting times in his head than Loki. 

"Hello?" he said. 

"Brother?" 

Only a few hours ago, Loki had quailed from the idea of speaking to Thor. He was still unsettled by the thought of what conversations might be occurring between his brother and Jane, still uneasily aware of his own guilt. But at the sound of Thor's voice, to his relief, he suddenly felt a rush of pleasure. Scrambling back onto the sofa next to Annie, Loki held the mobile in both hands and repeated his greeting. 

"Hello, brother, it is good to hear your voice."

"Yours, too," Thor replied. "Loki, I really am sorry to call you so late, I assumed I would be leaving you a message for you to receive in the morning. I wanted to invite you-- there is a holiday, here in the United States, this weekend. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers have told me of it. It is... a day for giving thanks, for the people and circumstances for which one is grateful."

"That sounds like a very good occasion for a holiday," Loki said. 

"It is, is it not?" Thor replied warmly. "Tony plans to celebrate it with a dinner-- only not on the actual day, because apparently Agent Coulson intends to spend it with his mother."

"With his what?" asked Loki, stupidly. 

Thor laughed. "That was also my reaction. Regardless, Tony has invited all the Avengers to stay with him for the weekend, and dine together on Saturday evening. And... " Thor paused for a moment, and then said awkwardly, "And since the purpose is to think of all for which we are grateful... I thought I would ask you to come celebrate with us. You and your friends."

Loki closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowed, and replied quietly, "I would like that very much, brother. Thank you for the invitation." 

"Good, I am glad," Thor said in a tone of restrained warmth. "Can you come on Friday? Tony has offered to send an aircraft for you-- "

"May I send you a message tomorrow, after I speak to George and Mitchell? I think they may be scheduled to work this weekend, and if they cannot come, I am quite sure I can manage passage for Annie and myself." He paused. "I will be very glad to see you again."

"As will I," Thor replied. "Good night."

"Good morning," Loki corrected. 

"I told you it would be my turn to wake you next," Thor reminded him with a chuckle, and ended the call. 

Loki looked at Annie. "Tony Stark has invited us to dinner. Would you care to go?"

Annie laughed. "Apart from the little detail about me being unable to eat or drink, that sounds like a wonderful idea. And a change of scenery-- " 

"Also sounds wonderful," Loki agreed. He consulted the time on the screen of his mobile. "And now, I really think it is time for bed."

"Right," Annie said, and took his hand. Loki blinked, and then smiled at her. 

"Oh. Right."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which we have a friendly interlude. I don't know about you, but I needed it!
> 
> **Warnings:** Long fluffy chapter is long and fluffy, and has very little to do with the actual plot. Avengers family hijinks ahoy!

Mitchell and George did indeed have to work on Saturday afternoon, and George had plans with Nina on Sunday. Loki was just about to feel very guilty for abandoning Mitchell, when the vampire remarked hopefully that Friday and Saturday nights would be the ideal time for a marathon viewing of the _Resident Evil_ movies. Both George and Mitchell really enjoyed these films, but Annie found them distasteful and Loki upsetting, so they were not generally considered suitable for household movie nights. 

George was immediately enthusiastic about the plan, which also involved the consumption of a great many unhealthy snacks (which could naturally do Mitchell no harm, being dead, but-- according to what Loki had learned from health lessons at school-- should be taken in moderation by any who was not. Loki decided it was not the time to make such arguments, and held his peace.) The two promised to cuddle the kittens, ensure they were not alarmed by the zombies, and play with Scamp. George even offered to go back to the ruin and finally retrieve the rest of Scamp's belongings. 

It was, therefore, with a clear conscience, and in a spirit of happy anticipation, that Loki and Annie left for New York late on Friday afternoon. This involved stepping out into the back garden, under a glamour that ensured no neighbours would pay attention to them. They held tightly to each other's hands, and Loki reached out to Yggdrasil. 

He customarily traveled alone when he walked between worlds, and almost never carried anything, but Annie and a backpack proved no impediment at all. This sort of travel was a great deal safer and simpler when going from one known point to another, so it had been agreed that Loki and Annie would go to Stark Tower, where they had spent some time the previous summer. The gathering was taking place at Tony's house in a more rural area "upstate," where they had never visited, so it had been agreed that someone would meet them at the Tower and escort them.

"Someone" turned out to be Pepper Potts, all smiles as she stepped out of the penthouse onto the landing site on the roof. 

"Hello!" she called cheerfully, taking Loki's hands and reaching up to kiss his cheek. Knowing the trick by which mortals were able to see Annie, Pepper continued to hold one of Loki's hands as she turned to Annie, reaching out with the other in welcome. "It's so good to see you both again!"

"Thank you," Loki replied, "it is extremely kind of you and Tony-- " it was a safe assumption the invitation had been tendered by both-- "to ask us."

"Tony's been looking for an excuse to get everyone together for months," Pepper replied. "You have no idea how frustrating it is for him, to have so many friends with actual real schedules they can't blow off whenever they feel like it. He was so pleased when Thor told him you were coming. They'd be here to pick you up, but I stayed in the city yesterday anyway, for a videoconference with the offices in Singapore, so it made more sense for you to come with me. Rhodey's traveling with us, too-- you remember Rhodey, right?-- so we'll have a carful anyway. Besides, I get a lot less frustrated in heavy traffic than Tony, and the city's not exactly easy to drive in right now."

"No, I can imagine," Loki agreed, walking to the edge of the roof to look out over the city. Despite what Loki knew to be energetic efforts on Tony's part, and presumably many others, there was still considerable evidence of the destruction wrought the previous summer by Hydra and the Dire Wraiths. If he was honest, the defenders had also caused considerable damage, though there was little they could have done to avoid it. Loki was unfamiliar with much of the city, and was therefore unable to identify the spot where he and the Deathwing had fought one another. 

Probably just as well, that.

Pepper took his arm and retained hold of it as she walked her guests into the penthouse. "We're just waiting for Rhodey, and then we're off," she explained, addressing Annie as well as Loki. "My bags are already in the car, and Rhodey travels just as light as you do," she added with a smile. "I, on the other hand, do _not_. Loki, can I offer you a drink or anything while we're waiting?"

Lt. Col. James Rhodes gave Loki just enough time to accept an experimental drink of whiskey, and to decide he did not really care for it, before his own arrival. Rhodey, who wore civilian garb, greeted Loki and Annie with great friendliness. He refused a drink, and the four descended by the lift to the underground parking level. Loki found himself going rather tense in these enclosed spaces, but Annie's firm grip on his hand helped considerably. 

Despite his distaste for city driving, Tony had brought part of his extensive automobile collection here to the city, so it was not immediately obvious to Loki which car they were looking for. Pepper brought out her keys and, across the garage, indicated a handsome dark blue vehicle. Though not unusually large, it looked quite imposing amid the sports cars. 

"We're the Audi wagon," she announced, pressing a button that caused the doors to unlock with an understated _click._ "Tony tells me I look like a soccer mom in it, but I find the extra space handy. You never know when Tony's going to ask me to transport a prototype for him. Or move a body." Her smile assured them she was joking about the last point. At last, Loki hoped it did. 

Loki and Annie occupied the back seat, gazing with interest at the city passing by, while in front Pepper and Rhodey discussed horsepower and cylinders and six-speed manual transmissions. The car was exceedingly comfortable as well as swift, and by the time they left the city behind it was too dark to admire the countryside anyway. Annie drifted off to sleep with her head on Loki's shoulder, and he was not long in following her. 

He woke to someone gently shaking his shoulder, and Pepper's voice calling his name. 

"We're here," she said, as Annie sat up and stretched. Pepper smiled. "Well, we're at the end of the driveway. I thought you might want to get your bearings before you get out of the car."

Loki blinked at her owlishly, then stretched in his turn as Pepper let off the handbrake, shifted back into first gear, and took her foot off the changing-gears pedal. The drive was long and winding, the headlights illuminating trees that grew close on both sides. This made their way very dark, although it was probably lovely by daylight. 

After about five minutes, the car broke out of the tree-lined drive and crunched on a gravel turning before a large brick house. Pepper brought the car to a stop. Before she had the engine turned off the front door flew open, light spilling across the front steps and people spilling out after it. As he pushed open his door, Loki was grateful to Pepper for giving him the chance to properly wake up before facing this. 

Even at that, he was practically dragged from the car by Tony Stark, whose exuberance could be practically Asgardian and who, although not unusually strong without his suit, was extremely persistent and difficult to detach. Loki would have stood on his dignity, except that he was having some difficulty standing on his feet with Tony draped around his neck, and anyway it was far too late to bother about that with Tony. 

"Loki, welcome, glad you could make it," Tony was saying, patting him on the back of the head as he hugged him. "Great to see you, Annie, you're looking lovely as usual-- " 

"It is good to see you, too, Tony," Loki replied, embracing the other man and then attempting to extricate himself. Tony, however, kept a firm grip on his elbow, which had the somewhat unfortunate effect of making Loki feel as though he was in custody-- _again_ \-- but was of course simply so that Tony could include Annie in his continuous stream of welcoming and explanatory remarks. "-- Your room's at the end of the hall, up the stairs to your left, Coulson and Barton will be arriving sometime early tomorrow, Bruce and Steve are already here, Natasha didn't say when she was coming so she's probably lurking around already, and your brother-- "

"Loki!" came a welcome boom, and Thor emerged in the great entry hall from a room beyond the stairwell. He was, unusually, not wearing his armour, was instead clad in jeans and a t-shirt. Tony let go of Loki, who immediately forgot he had any reason to be shy of his brother, and practically threw himself into Thor's embrace as though they had not seen each other in months. It was evident, from his return of the gesture, that whatever had been said between himself and Jane had not reduced Thor's affection for Loki.

Who was just beginning to experience the relief of that knowledge when Thor gently extracted himself, and told him, "You must also say hello to-- "

"Hi, Loki," said a voice behind Thor, and Loki found himself looking into the calm eyes of Jane Foster.

~oOo~

There was never a waking moment (and, though he rarely remembered his dreams, probably few sleeping ones) in which Loki was not aware of being grateful for Annie, but that feeling was at least doubled in the next confused moments of greeting. He really did not know what he would have done if she had not been there, holding his hand and reminding him that whatever he had stirred up, there were people still who loved him. Probably all the same people who had done so before he had done the stirring, in fact.

They ended with Thor, Jane, Annie and Loki withdrawing to the room from whence Thor and Jane had come. Tony turned the full force of his welcome on Pepper and Rhodey, but he did enter several times to make general offers of food and drink. Loki, for some reason, felt shy of accepting until Thor and Jane did, but eventually there was a platter of sandwiches on the coffee table before them, everyone was settling onto squashy sofas, and Jane-- possibly realizing Loki's case of tongue-tie was not going to resolve without assistance-- had commandeered the controls of the enormous flat-screen television for her regular Friday night fare. 

" _Say Yes To the Dress._ You'll love it," she announced. "Even if it isn't a drinking game tonight." As she pressed the appropriate buttons to select the channel, she eyed the seating arrangements thoughtfully. "Loki, squeeze over-- this will be a lot more fun if I can hear what Annie has to say about the dresses." 

The next thing Loki knew, all four of them were occupying the same large sofa. Annie was halfway in his lap, which was never a hardship, while Jane, cuddled into Thor, had kicked off her shoes and was ensuring one of her feet maintained contact with Loki's thigh. In such a position, it became increasingly difficult to maintain his original level of anxiety concerning Jane's probable feelings toward him. 

Anxiety in general was difficult to sustain, really, when the television program began. It was only then that Loki recalled the Skype conversation in which Jane had spoken of the program-- which focused on the selection of bridal gowns and was not exactly the first entertainment one would associate with Thor. When Loki peeked at his brother, he found Thor watching the screen with an expression of patient amusement, intermingled with glances of affectionate amusement down at Jane. 

"Okay, that one looks like someone did something terrible to a Muppet," she announced, when the first bride on the program appeared in her first candidate gown. The garment was a tight-fitting frock with a skirt flaring from just above the knee, embellished by a great many fluffy tendrils that did not quite look like feathers. Loki had actually been cudgeling his brains to decide what it reminded him of, and-- reluctantly-- realized Jane was quite right. 

"That... is a disturbing thought," he remarked. 

Thor eyed the concoction thoughtfully. "Oh, I think it is rather pretty on her. Mind you, the neckline would not suit _me_ at all." 

There was a moment of silence, and then both Annie and the red-faced Jane burst into hysterical giggles, while Loki cast a sheepish look at Thor. 

"I take it you have begun to read mythology?" he ventured. 

"I did far worse than that," Thor replied drily. "I asked Dr. Erik Selvig whether he knew why Jane and Darcy seemed so interested in my opinions on wedding gowns, when so far as I knew neither of them has any immediate interest in matrimony. I am only grateful there were not a dozen SHIELD agents present at the time." 

_"Busted,"_ Jane sang, as she and Annie dissolved again into laughter. Thor studied his brother's flaming face-- really, it was ridiculous for _him_ to feel guilty, when for once Loki had no part in this whatsoever-- and then remarked, with cheerful spite,

"There is a second version of this program, brother. One in which the gowns under inspection are intended for bridesmaids. Based on my understanding of that particular myth, it might prove to be of great interest to you."

They were still giggling when Steve and Bruce appeared to offer greetings. That was when Loki noticed another thing that guarded against the return of his anxiety: the room they occupied was quite large, and so the sofa was not set against the wall. Rather, it served to divide the room, and anyone who passed through could easily walk or stand behind it. Which everyone did, and everyone paused to speak.

There had, for many years, been a misconception on Asgard that Loki preferred not to be touched. This was not at all true, at least not when the touch was friendly, and he was very glad the misunderstanding had not followed him to Midgard. 

Now, for instance, even after the initial greetings, every one of the people who walked behind the sofa on their way somewhere else reached out to lay a hand on Loki, whether it was Steve putting a friendly hand on his shoulder in passing, or Tony pausing to massage his scalp rather as though he was a cat. (Which was a pleasant enough sensation that Loki now completely understood why Philip and Elizabeth purred so when it was done to them.)

"And here I thought it was just me," Annie remarked, as Rhodey continued on his way after pausing for a few words with his hand on Loki's shoulder. 

"Just you what?" Loki asked. 

"Just me who can't keep my hands off you," Annie explained, with a wicked little smile. 

Loki blinked. "That has nothing to do with _me,"_ he replied. Annie raised her eyebrows, and Loki insisted, "Physical contact with _me_ is how they are able to see and converse with _you_. I admit, nobody is behaving as though touching me is distasteful to them, which I appreciate, but if you were not here, I suspect they would still be stopping to converse, but keeping their hands to themselves." Loki paused and considered. "Except perhaps Tony. You know how Tony is."

Annie looked genuinely startled, and Jane leaned forward to look around Loki. 

"He's right," she said. "I mean, I certainly wouldn't be sitting here more or less playing footsy with Loki-- no offense, Loki-- if I didn't want to talk to you." 

And just at that Natasha walked in, leaned over the sofa with a hand on the back of Loki's neck, and said, "Hi, Annie, nice to see you. Are those roast beef sandwiches?" 

"All right," Loki grumbled, reaching for the platter to offer it to her, " _now_ I am beginning to feel ignored." Natasha patted him, took two sandwiches, and disappeared down the hallway. Loki watched her go, wondering idly what she would make of Owen (the answer he came up with was also _sandwiches_ ), then offered the platter to Jane and Thor and replaced it on the table. "See?" he said to Annie, who bumped him companionably with her shoulder. 

"I like that one," she directed everyone's attention back to the television, where another young woman was modeling yet another tight-fitting gown with a skirt that belled out halfway down her legs. 

"I preferred the one she had on before this," Loki decided. "Although they kept saying it was a 'princess' dress, and all the pictures I have seen of weddings in the British royal family depict the brides wearing gowns with sleeves."

Jane giggled again. "I'll keep that in mind, if I ever decide to marry into the British royal family."

"That is probably not the royal family you need to think about," Loki said under his breath. Before Jane could ask him to repeat himself, the next dress came swishing out, and he exclaimed, "Wait, wait, I like that one much better."

"All that tulle?" Jane asked, doubtfully. 

"Yes," Loki said definitely. The gown had a tight sparkling bodice and then, from the waist, a skirt composed of layer after layer of drifting gauze. He had no difficulty imagining what it would look like on Annie.

Annie ruffled his hair. "I should have known you'd be a ballgown sort of fella," she remarked in amusement. 

"Oh, no," Loki replied innocently, "you must be thinking of my brother." 

It turned out he was able to transport himself across the room faster than Thor could kick him. Just.

The wedding-gown program got them past the first little stretch of awkwardness. By the time it finished, everyone else had gathered in the big room. Despite his genuine pleasure in seeing the Avengers, particularly Tony and Steve, Loki eventually began to find the cross-talk and rising volume a little oppressive.

Besides, he had not gotten much sleep the night before, what with the haunting, and of course it was several hours later at home. He fought it as well as he could, but eventually Steve caught him stifling a yawn, and suggested quietly that perhaps he might like to be shown to his room. Annie, fortunately, was also ready to say goodnight, which Loki repeated for her rather than suggest a general laying-on-of-hands. 

He was in the bathroom next to their assigned room-- Annie having no apparent objection to sharing, and possibly, like Loki, preferring to have someone familiar close by in such a large and unknown house-- brushing his teeth, when someone tapped on the closed door. 

"Yes?" he called, a little muffled through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

"Can I talk to you a minute?" Jane asked quietly. 

Loki wiped his foamy mouth and opened the door. "Jane? What is it?" 

Jane edged through the door, closed it behind her, and asked, "Are we okay?"

Loki put down his toothbrush. "I am not sure-- ?"

"When you asked me to talk to Thor, just before you ended that Skype call you got all weird and closed-up. I wasn't quite sure what was going on, but it worried me. And tonight, when you saw me, for just a second you almost looked scared. What's the matter?" 

Loki picked up the toothbrush, fidgeted with it, and put it back down. "I was only... I just thought..." He took a deep breath. "I like you, Jane. Very much. And I would like for us to be friends. But... I was rather afraid that if you thought, again, about what I did to Thor, and to you-- " He could not go on, and he was trying not to think about how unearthing all those emotions might affect _Thor's_ feelings for him, too. 

Jane raised a hand. "Okay, stop. I've already told you that anything Thor says to me is in confidence, and I meant it. But if you're worried that something I hear is going to make me hate you, I can tell you right now that's not going to happen. I was there when the space robot landed, yes. But I also know you took on the Deathwing so Thor wouldn't have to. You've both done a lot of things, and not all of them are bad. I wouldn't want to hate you anyway, just because _he_ loves you so much-- and nothing is going to change _that_ \-- but the fact is I don't. Hate you. Really."

Loki chewed his lower lip. "I told you once that I was sorry I frightened you, and, and caused you such pain. I did mean that."

Jane nodded. "I remember that, and I know you meant it. I also remember Annie telling me there was another side to that story. Don't be worried, okay? I'm sure there are things Annie's heard that have made her really mad at Thor, but she's still his friend. I'm probably going to be mad at you too, sometimes, while we get through this, but I'd also like to be your friend. Okay?"

Loki nodded. "Okay," he whispered. 

Jane smiled. "Good. You should probably get some sleep. I have a feeling your brother has all sorts of plans for this weekend, and you want to be able to keep up."

Loki managed to smile, too. "Thank you, Jane." She patted his arm and let herself out of the bathroom. 

~oOo~

Apparently, the bathroom was the agreed-upon meeting place for Loki and any who wished to speak to him, because the next morning he was dressing after his shower when there came a cheerful thump on the door and a muted call of, "Brother, are you in there?"

Loki finished pulling a short-sleeved t-shirt over his long-sleeved one, scruffed his still-wet hair out of his eyes, and opened the door. "Yes?" he replied, speaking softly in deference to the fact that no one else seemed to be stirring on this floor. One trait both brothers had in common was the habit of rising early, exacerbated on this occasion by the fact it was mid-morning back in Bristol. Previously, when Loki had been in America, he had mostly been in such a state that the difference in time hardly mattered, but just now he was rather noticing it. 

Thor, in the doorway, smiled. "Good morning, Loki. I hope you had a restful night, and I am very glad to see you awake already. I rather hoped you and Annie would like to come on... an expedition... with Jane and myself this morning." 

"Certainly," Loki replied immediately, and then, belatedly, thought to ask, "What sort of an expedition?"

Thor smiled again. "You might say-- a hunting expedition."

Loki felt his mouth drop open stupidly. "A... _hunting_ \-- ?" He was about to ask his brother what in the Nine Realms would possess him to think _Annie_ \-- or _Loki,_ for that matter-- would want to go _hunting,_ when Thor withdrew and shut the door. Loki was left wondering rather wildly whether he would be allowed to haunt the house in Bristol if he was in America when Annie killed him. 

~oOo~

As it turned out, Loki was not killed that morning. Nor indeed was anyone else: Thor's "hunting expedition" turned out to be a search for the last farmer's market of the season. 

Pepper had apparently loaned Jane her car keys and her Audi the night before. Thor made a great production of ensuring he was seated safely within the vehicle before Jane approached it, lest she run him over again. ("It was only _once_ , and you walked into my blind spot!") Apparently, Loki and Annie were considered to be safe, on the grounds that Jane only ever ran over Thor. ("I'll have you know _Darcy_ was driving the first time!") 

No one was run over ("It was more _knocked down_ than _run over_ , anyway!") and the late farmer's market, in the parking lot of a local high school, provided them with a bushel of locally-grown apples that put Thor in a high good humour. Loki and Annie could not understand why this was so important to him: Thor refused to answer their questions, and Jane was far too busy concentrating on not putting a dent in the Audi to pay much attention to them. 

When they arrived back at Tony's house-- technically, it was a house, although by daylight Loki could see it bore about the same relationship to the pink house as did Buckingham Palace-- Jane stopped the car to let everyone out, and Thor was too absorbed in retrieving his purchase to even tease Jane about the possibility of her backing over him. Loki and Annie scrambled out of the back seat and entered the house in his wake, following Thor (and his apples) into the kitchen. 

"Loki, isn't there something in the myths about apples?" Annie whispered. 

"Probably," Loki shrugged. "There seems to be something about apples in all sorts of myths. But I have no idea which ones Thor might be reading." 

The kitchen was at the back of the house and was, knowing Tony's domestic skills, probably the province of staff most of the time. Like the kitchen in his Scottish lounge, it was large and functional, with gleaming appliances and many useful counter surfaces. It flowed naturally into an area with a table and chairs, where one could eat a casual meal, and thence to a comfortable sort of sitting room. The whole space looked out over the back grounds through large windows, and double glass doors accessed the terrace, which could also be reached via similar doors in the dining room. Staff space it probably was much of the time, but it had a sense of warmth and welcome. 

And also, at this moment, it had Steve, at a centre island, working on a bowl of something that smelled like sage and onions, while on the other side Rhodey and Bruce chopped a variety of vegetables in preparation for the evening's feast. As Loki looked around for some way to make himself useful, a voice from what was probably a butler's pantry said, 

"Good morning, Loki."

"Hello, Agent Coulson," Loki greeted him, trying not to be startled, when he emerged holding a jar of seasonings, by the agent's garb of khaki trousers and a blue half-zip fleece. Of course Loki knew the agent did not _always_ wear black suits and starched white shirts... but he had never really _believed_ it. Had he examined his thoughts, Loki might have found a vision of Agent Coulson, in his suit, sleeping with his hands folded across his breast, like Count Dracula in the films. Which was of course ridiculous, considering he knew perfectly well that vampires slept in their undergarments, amid a tangle of blankets and sheets, in sketchily-made beds. 

Well, one of them, anyway.

Remembering, Loki said, "I hope your mother is well?"

"She is, thank you for asking," Coulson replied with a smile, shifted the jar to his left hand and extended his right for Loki to shake, glancing around to greet Annie as he did so. Then he crossed to where Steve was mixing together what looked like cubes of toasted bread with a variety of other ingredients, and used a measuring spoon to add a little of the contents of his jar to the bowl. 

Steve had just looked up to thank him when Jane came in from parking the car, followed by Tony and Pepper in robes and pajamas, and Natasha and Clint in running clothes. 

"Good morning," Pepper greeted everyone generally, looking around at the scene of activity. 

"Coffee," Tony uttered, lurching forward. Thor, who had been pouring out a mug of the beverage, immediately handed it over. A deep gulp seemed to render Tony human once more, and he looked with interest at the basket of apples at Thor's feet. "What's this? Another spite pie?"

Thor smiled and replied, "Is there a surface upon which I can work, or should I wait for the rest of you to finish your tasks?" 

Steve looked around. "This is probably the best place for you, if you can wait until we're done."

Thor nodded. "Then, since we did not eat before our little adventure, perhaps I will begin preparing breakfast. Is there a place for me to leave these apples in the meantime? Loki and Annie, would you assist me?"

"Of course," Loki agreed for both of them, trying to look as though he had not been twitchy with discomfort at being without something useful to do while the others were busy.

Steve smiled, indicating the alcove whence Agent Coulson had come. "How about in there? And I'm frankly starving, we thought we'd get these little jobs out of the way before breakfast and I'm really beginning to regret it. Breakfast for everyone sounds like a great idea." 

Tony muttered something about morning being far too early for breakfast, but drained his first mug and then began to show Thor where to find utensils and pans. The kitchen was designed more for catering than family meals, so it was possible to stay out of each other's way while they worked. Even so, as usual, Tony flinched a little when Annie, who of course he could not see, began cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them with milk and pepper. 

Neither Loki nor Thor had learned to cook in Asgard, of course, but spending significant amounts of time with humans and without servants had led to all sorts of adaptive behaviours. It was true that Loki's idea of breakfast normally encompassed a bowl of cereal and milk, but he was quite hungry by now and fell in happily enough with Thor's apparent plans for sausages and bacon along with the eggs. 

Clint and Natasha declined to cook, everyone declared that Pepper was not to lift a finger all weekend, and Tony, despite his knowledge of the layout of the kitchen, admitted to his own general uselessness in domestic matters. However, he remained at Loki's elbow, except when he made more coffee that tasted rather as Loki imagined rocket fuel would, and Loki eventually remembered to ask him something.

"Tony, a moment ago you referred to a 'spite pie.' What is that?" 

It seemed an eminently reasonable question, and so Loki did not understand why everyone giggled-- except for Steve, whose ears became red. 

Tony leaned on the counter, in exactly the right position to be in the way of the most people, and smirked.

"A while back, a magazine did a big story on Steve here. I've got a copy you can read," he added, when Loki visibly perked up with interest. "Anyway, long story short, in describing the good Captain, the writer used an old expression, 'as American as motherhood and apple pie.' And when your brother read that, he was a little offended." 

"Anyone would have been," Thor said, not looking in the least offended now, as he turned bacon in a skillet. 

"Of course they would," Loki agreed, puzzled and rather annoyed, himself. "I can tell you that British people also-- wait, do not all humans have mothers? And not only humans-- so too do the Aesir, and numerous other species. I myself could be said to have _two_ \-- "

"Yes, exactly," Tony nodded hastily. "That was _exactly_ what Thor said. There really isn't any sensible reason for that figure of speech. But when we tried to explain its origins to Thor-- "

"None of you seemed to have any idea _where_ it originated," Thor pointed out, peering into one of the ovens to check the progress of the sausages.

"Admitted. I concede," Tony said, raising his hands in mock-surrender. "Long story short, he got mad and decided there probably wasn't anything especially American about apple pie, either-- "

"I have certainly eaten it many times in England," Loki said huffily. "It is especially nice with a little cheddar cheese."

"See?" Thor demanded, waving a carving fork at the room in general. 

"Not arguing, buddy," Tony reminded him, and turned back to Loki. "And-- just for spite-- he decided to prove it by baking one of his own."

"Which was _delicious,_ " Clint called from the sitting room. "Don't forget the important part."

"And pastry isn't easy to make, at least not really good pastry," agreed Jane, as she refilled her coffee and began to make toast. "I've tried it a few times and it always ended in disaster, all tough and nasty."

"However, unlike me, you can bake a cake without destroying it," Thor pointed out. To Loki, he explained, "I am always banished from the kitchen during the crucial period, as my footfalls are unfortunately heavy and cause the cake to collapse." Loki nodded understanding of this critical point. Carol had told him of a birthday cake destroyed by the cat leaping on top of the stove at the wrong time.

"Anyway," Tony summed up, flinching out of the way as Annie carried the bowl of eggs to the stove he was leaning on and poured them into a skillet Loki had put on to heat for her, "turns out your brother has a secret talent for pastry-making. Who knew?"

"And after breakfast, if you are willing, perhaps you would help prepare the apples," Thor suggested. Loki nodded, and a few minutes later Annie declared the first batch of eggs ready to eat.

~oOo~

When the breakfast dishes, and the detritus from the other preparatory work, had been cleared away, Thor and Loki took over the centre island and the rest of the group began to wander off to their own devices. Jane even asked Tony and Coulson to look over some recent data of hers, and Annie seemed to take that as a cue, because she decided she wished to go upstairs and lie down for a little while. 

Thor, as he placed flour and shortening and various other ingredients on the work surface, glanced around and remarked, "One thing I will say for our friends: they really are not subtle." 

"No," Loki agreed, settling at a stool across from Thor with a sharp knife and a neat line of apples in need of peeling. 

Thor smiled at him as he got to work on his pastry. "I assume Jane and Annie, at least, are giving us a chance to speak privately. Is there something on your mind, brother?" Loki suddenly found himself deeply engaged with the path of his knife across the surface of the apple in his hands, and the strip of peel that followed the blade. Thor pushed a little. "Does it have anything to do with Jane's renewed interest in my state of mind after... the Destroyer incident?" 

Loki, carefully concentrating on his hands, finally answered. "It is not so much your mind that concerns us. Really, Thor, I know you have forgiven my actions, but I cannot help but feel-- "

"We all know that about you, Loki," Thor interrupted, in a tone of kindly amusement. Loki glanced up in confusion, and Thor repeated gently back, "You _cannot help but feel._ Has that not been the reason for nearly everything you have ever done, for good or ill? Mostly for good, especially of late, but the point is, you and I are not entirely alike, so your assumptions regarding my state of mind are not warranted. I have told you how I felt in the wake of that... time. It was... unpleasant, and I was upset and very angry, but as I learned of your motivations I began to be able to understand. I do. There is no need to keep asking me how I felt, for I have told you all there is to know."

Loki looked down at his apple again, conscious of having been gently and kindly escorted out of a room in Thor's heart, and the door closed upon him. His old belief that Thor never lied had never felt less like the truth. The problem was, as a result of that curiously naïve assumption, Loki had never learned to recognize his brother's "tells," and he now had no idea of the exact nature of the falsehood. He only knew Thor refused to confide in him, and he certainly could not plead or demand his brother change his mind. Not about this.

He could feel Thor's gaze on his bent head, and then Thor changed the subject. To Loki's relief, his brother's tone was affectionate, as was the subject he chose. It almost felt... like something offered in place of what he had just been refused:

"Do you remember, when I visited you last, I mentioned those memories I had from childhood of mother expecting you? I had not thought of them in years. Is it not funny, how the minds of children make up such things? I suppose my real first memory of you must have been the first time I was allowed to hold you." Loki glanced up again, wondering whether Thor was recalling this to reassure Loki, or himself, that his fondness for his little brother was unchanged. Thor smiled, and went on, "I remember being afraid at first I would drop you, and then for some reason I became fascinated by your hands. They were so tiny, and yet you had little knuckles and fingernails like mine, and when you caught hold of my finger your grip was surprisingly strong." Thor smiled to himself as he sprinkled water onto his pastry mixture and continued to work at it, his own big hands quick and certain. 

Loki, peeling the next apple, cast his own mind back. "I think my first memory of you must have been... There was a soft toy animal, I do not remember what it was, but it was out of my reach, and you gave it to me." The soft surface of the toy, and a warm little hand on his. He could go no farther back. And suddenly he heard himself asking: "Do you remember, in the kennels? I am told I shapeshifted-- "

Thor laughed. "Yes, into a puppy. It probably should have been frightening, but I only remember being thrilled. And that you were very fluffy. I held you on my lap, and then as soon as the kennel master took the bitch away you changed back, so I suppose it was not long enough to become alarming. Hildr had to dress you again, and I remember how she fussed. Had I known any other children at the time, I probably would have been very boastful about the things my little brother could do."

It was on the tip of Loki's tongue, since they were talking of children, to tell Thor about his half-formed plans for teacher training. Instead, somehow, he was saying, 

"Speaking of shapeshifting, the other day, before you visited... I was... experimenting with my other form. The Jotun one." Head still bent over his busy hands, he glanced up at Thor to see his brother's expression. Thor looked interested, and Loki went on, "It turns out the form you saw, that time on Asgard, was a rather incomplete version, and now I am better-acquainted with the people, I look... more Jotun. It was strange-- for one thing, I am much larger than I was, although still small for a Jotun, and I look rather like... well, Byleistr and Helblindi, I suppose. Without hair, either. It was... very interesting." 

"Not alarming?" Thor asked quietly, as he dusted flour across his work surface and began to roll out his pastry. 

"No, not really. Not at all," Loki corrected himself. "It is still rather odd, especially since I had never really _looked_ at myself in that form, but... No, I did not feel afraid."

"That is good," Thor said warmly. "Perhaps, before you leave us, you could show me-- ?" 

Loki nodded eagerly, relief blooming through him at his brother's expression. Acceptance, affection, more evidence that everything was not in ruins after all. Emboldened, and perhaps wishing to tell himself he was, for once, not the one holding back, Loki went on, "I also had a talk with one of the teachers at my school-- "

Loki talked on, about the possibility of a new kind of life for himself on Midgard, and Thor nodded and asked questions, full of interest, until the pies were in one oven and Steve appeared to put the turkeys on to roast in the other. 

~oOo~

The pies were set out to cool but the turkeys were still cooking when Tony announced that Pepper was insisting they all go play outside for a while. 

"Touch football?" Clint suggested, eyes gleaming. Bruce snorted, and Steve said mildly, 

"Not if your definition of 'touch' still includes brass knuckles."

"What is 'touch' football?" Loki asked Annie under his breath. 

"No idea," Annie replied. "What Americans call football doesn't work anything like our football, anyway. There seems to be a lot of crashing into each other involved."

"Ah," Loki said. 

"You know," Tony offered, his own eyes bright, "I've been working the kinks out of the new suit. Maybe we could test it out. Rhodey, I've got that one of yours, the one I was upgrading the chest repulsor on, out here too."

Rhodey shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

It was just as well Tony owned a great deal of land: the nearest neighbours were still too far away to be alarmed by the sounds of combat on the front lawn. Tony and Rhodey suited up and the Avengers spent a happy couple of hours challenging them with everything from handguns to Captain America's shield to exploding arrows to Mjolnir (which resulted in Rhodey being pinned to the lawn until Thor could stop laughing long enough to free him.) Loki even conjured a few fireballs to throw at them, but it was not difficult to tell his heart was not in it, and neither Tony nor Rhodey had any trouble deflecting them. 

"Annie, suppose you try," Loki suggested suddenly, pointing to a stack of firewood piled up near the entrance to the cellar. 

"Me?" Annie said doubtfully. 

"Why not?" Loki coaxed. Raising his voice, he called, "Tony, Annie has discovered a new power! Watch this!"

Tony turned in the air, waved in Loki's direction, and took up a defensive posture. Annie smiled nervously, which of course Tony could not see, and then turned toward the woodpile. 

A moment later the entire cord of hardwood came flying through the air and rained down on Tony, knocking him silly before he could bring his repulsors into play. Annie shrieked an apology, which of course Tony could not hear, but such was the nature of her powers that she was unable to call back the wood once it was unleashed. Rhodey shot up in the air to safety, Steve grabbed Natasha and held his shield over both of them, Thor batted a few stray lengths of firewood away with Mjolnir, and Loki actually had to cast a protective forcefield over himself and Clint, who was laughing too hard to duck. 

"I think it's time we checked on the turkey," Steve suggested tactfully, when chunks of wood had finally ceased to rain down. 

"Good idea," agreed Coulson, who had not been seen to dodge, and yet was somehow not anywhere near any of the falling wood. 

" _I_ think it's time for a drink," Tony announced, landing and wrenching his dented mask open with both hands. "Annie, I am very glad you're on our side."

"I'm so sorry, Tony," Annie said contritely. "Loki, tell him I'm sorry. And stop laughing!" 

"Annie says she is very sorry," Loki hiccupped, from his position sitting on the ground next to Clint, both of them giggling too hard to get to their feet. 

"No harm done," Tony assured her airily, although he wobbled a little as he walked toward the house. 

"I really am sorry," Annie repeated anxiously. "Really, Loki, stop it!" 

"I apologize," Loki giggled, then sobered as she set out for the back of the house. "Annie, do not be upset! You know Tony will find it funny as soon as his head stops ringing!" 

"Not helpful, Loki," Clint suggested. 

"I am aware of that," Loki replied, starting to his feet. Clint followed suit, and when Loki moved to follow Annie, forestalled him. 

"You and Annie," the archer said. "You're... a _thing."_

"Yes," Loki replied, conscious of his face heating up. Clint nodded, then leaned toward him. 

"How does it work, with a ghost?" he asked. Loki must have looked blank, because Clint continued, in a tone of genuine curiosity, " _You_ know," and made a rather vivid gesture. Loki knew perfectly well what it meant, but, since he had no desire whatsoever to discuss the subject with Clint-- or anyone else for that matter-- Loki resorted to assuming an expression of what Tony or Mitchell would surely term _clueless innocence_ , and held it until Clint flushed and muttered, "Never mind."

Loki left him and pursued Annie around the house to the terrace. "Annie, please stop. You did not hurt him. He is not angry at you."

"I know," Annie admitted. "I'm just embarrassed."

Loki uttered another incautious hoot of laughter. " _You_ are embarrassed? Think how _Tony_ feels!" Annie punched him in the chest, and Loki recoiled dramatically, clutching his sternum, before arguing, "Really, we should go indoors. I am cold and it must be nearly time to eat. Come on."

Annie seemed about to agree when she suddenly looked past Loki, her eyes interested. "Is that Bruce over there by the woods?"

Loki turned to look in the direction she indicated. Sure enough, there was Dr. Banner, standing very still near the tree line. "I wonder what he is doing?" Loki said aloud, curiosity welling up. He had not been surprised that Bruce had declined to join the others in the front yard-- it would all be fun and games until the Hulk ripped someone's head off-- but it seemed more than peculiar for him to be standing all alone like this. 

Loki and Annie stepped off the terrace and walked toward Bruce. They were about twenty paces from him when both Loki and Annie realized Bruce was holding out his hands, and small gray-and-black birds were _landing_ on them. 

Coming to a halt, Loki called softly, "What are they?"

Bruce looked up, his face serene and friendly. "They're called black-capped chickadees," he replied quietly. "One of the most common songbirds in this part of the world."

"Oh." Loki pulled the zipper of his jacket all the way up to his chin and edged closer. "And how do you persuade them to-- ?"

"Surprisingly easily," Bruce smiled. "They're friendly and _very_ curious. And I think the staff must be feeding them anyway. Do you want to try?"

Loki was cold, which he did not like, and hungry. But he found himself wanting very badly for the little birds to sit on his fingers, too. He took another careful step toward Bruce and extended his hand so that the other man could tip a few sunflower seeds into it. 

"Now. Just stand still and be patient," Bruce said quietly, and went back to holding his own hand away from his body. 

Patience was not exactly one of Loki's not-very-numerous virtues-- any who knew him would say so. However, he stood quietly for what seemed a very long time, hand extended, and waited. 

The first little bird landed only long enough to pick up a seed and fly away again. The second, however, paused and looked at him for a few seconds, tiny eyes bright in its black and white face. Something small and quick brushed against his consciousness, then the bird took its seed and was gone. Loki blinked, and found himself smiling rather foolishly at his hand as he waited for the next little bird to land. 

As it began to get dark, the birds stopped coming, and Tony finally came out on the terrace and yelled at Bruce and Loki to come in for dinner before they froze and everyone starved to death. Bruce tossed the last of the seeds he held into the bushes, and Loki followed suit, and then he and Annie followed them into the house.

~oOo~

The dining room did not look exactly like the feasting halls of Asgard, but that was only because of the presence on the table of fowls instead of boar, and a general lack of picked bones on the floor. (Although Loki thought someone should keep an eye on Clint.) Despite the fact she could not eat, there was a place set for Annie, around the curve of the table from Loki. Loki found his place was between Tony (next to Annie) and Jane (with Coulson on her other hand) while Annie had Thor for her other dining partner.

Loki's first instinct was to ask to trade seats with Thor, but then the rationale for the seating arrangement became clear: if the only way the humans could see and converse with Annie was by physical contact with Loki, then putting Loki between two humans instead of next to Annie effectively gave her an extra person to talk to. And since Coulson was quite matter-of-fact about reaching behind Jane to touch Loki, her social interactions were thus expanded a little further. 

Really, Loki had not thought it possible for him to be any fonder of Tony, but it appeared he was wrong-- despite the fact he spent the entire meal spilling and dropping things when Tony clutched his right arm unexpectedly. (Jane was a great deal less obtrusive in her contact.)

It should not have been a surprise, when they entered the house, to find Nick Fury had arrived, grumbling profanities about the length of the drive and carrying a bakery box and a bottle of something amber. His presence automatically transformed the foot of the table into the head (although no one said as much to Tony) with Steve on his left and Clint, looking briefly mutinous, on his right. On Steve's other hand was Rhodey, then Bruce, Pepper, Thor, and Annie, while Natasha occupied the seat between Clint and Coulson. One might have thought the seating arrangement would lead to far too much SHIELD shop being talked at that end of the table, but as far as Loki could hear Clint was mostly concerned with football and ice hockey ( _"Hockey,"_ Natasha the Russian corrected him) and his end of the table seemed quite willing to fall in with sports as a topic of discussion. 

When they were not concentrating on the food. It appeared that an American Thanksgiving feast was quite similar to what Loki had heard of British Christmas dinners-- his household did not observe Christmas, what with George being Jewish and Mitchell a vampire, but the customs could be seen on television. There were no Brussels sprouts on the table, which was a shame (if he was ever invited back perhaps Loki could make them his contribution) but the carrots, peas, and mashed potatoes and turnip were all very good, especially half-drowned in gravy. Loki was mostly familiar with turkey as a filling in sandwiches, the whole bird being rather too large a prospect for a household of four people (only three of whom could eat), and he had never eaten "dressing" before. It _looked_ rather dubious, to be honest, greyish and composed of bread and onions and what looked like a little sausage, but it _smelled_ so wonderful Loki did not have to be invited twice to try it. The taste fulfilled the promises of its scent, especially with a little clear red cranberry sauce on the same fork. 

The dish of something called candied yams was a little less successful, being rather too sweet for Loki's taste (he liked his tea heavily sugared, especially after casting magic, but was otherwise fairly moderate about sweets.) However, Thor enjoyed the dish so much that Loki resolved to learn how to cook it, for future visits by his brother. 

Another difference between this meal and the feasts of Asgard was the absence of anyone to wait at table, which resulted in a great deal of passing dishes around, and then back and forth, when anyone wanted seconds. Loki found it most helpful to use his magic to hand things round to those at the far end. Watching everyone else, it began to occur to him that much of the group seemed a little awkward with the niceties of a family-style meal, including-- to his surprise-- Steve. He had been aware that the Avengers were a mixed bag of, for the most part, orphans and outcasts, but the idea had not really struck him deeply until he realized that he, the formerly banished prince of Asgard, seemed more familiar with such practices than _Captain America._

Given his particular set of insecurities he probably would have insisted on helping clear the table regardless, but something about that revelation made Loki especially eager to participate. He, Rhodey, Annie and Steve put the mostly-empty serving dishes on one of the counters (yet one more difference between this feast and those of Asgard was the fairly accurate estimate of how many vegetables would be consumed-- turkey and dressing seemed to be another matter altogether, with a remarkable amount left over) and turned their attention to apple pie and the blackberry cheesecake contributed by Nick Fury. 

The cheesecake looked very tempting indeed, but with only sufficient appetite left for a single serving of anything, Loki naturally chose the pie. He and Annie served out slices of whichever treat was requested by the others, while Rhodey and Steve carried them to the dining room. Finally, they returned to the table, the three who intended to eat taking their own plates back to their places. As Loki sat down again he was very conscious of his brother trying not to look too obviously interested in Loki's reaction to his first taste of pie.

Loki would have waxed enthusiastic about Thor's apple pie supposing he had needed to cast an anti-vomiting spell upon himself to do so, but the smell of baked apple, cinnamon, and pastry had been so tantalizing that he had only with difficulty restrained himself from tasting in the kitchen. He was glad to have exercised restraint when he took his first bite-- whatever expression crossed his face seemed to be exactly the one Thor was hoping for. 

"Brother, this is indeed wonderful," he said faintly, exercising all the self-control he possessed to eat slowly, so as to enjoy every flakey morsel. "Should your interest in Avenging wane, you could certainly declare yourself the God of Pastry."

"I would get behind that," Clint agreed, without looking up from his plate, which contained slices of both pie and cheesecake. 

When the meal was finally finished, by tacit agreement everyone briefly excused themselves to change into the least restrictive garments they had with them. Gluttony was actually one of the very few vices Loki did not normally possess, but he had eaten enough to satisfy Volstagg, and it was only with difficulty that he restrained himself from falling onto the bed and sleeping like a well-fed python.

"Turkey coma," Tony informed him, when he finally made his way back downstairs to the television room with its squashy sofas. Loki somehow found the energy to raise an eyebrow, and Tony insisted, "It's a thing, okay? Really."

"It's a myth," Bruce argued mildly, leaning back in one of the sofas and staring peacefully at the ceiling. "And you know it, Tony. I'd look up the reference but I'm way too full to think right now."

"It's a thing," Tony insisted, but then let the matter go, which was a relief since all Loki wanted out of life right now was to keep still and gaze at the ceiling himself. 

Tony, of course, could not engage in such a quiet pursuit, and insisted that there be a DVD. It was perhaps proof that all things were connected when it turned out what he had in mind, apparently in deference to a partiality recently discovered in Steve, was _A Muppet Christmas Carol._

"You might not remember this, Loki," said Tony, which was code for _an event that happened immediately after you were abducted and tortured last summer,_ "but Steve thinks the Muppets are hilarious."

_"Everyone_ thinks the Muppets are hilarious," Jane pointed out. 

"And I only discovered them because you have a big stash of _Muppet Show_ DVDs at your place in Scotland," Steve defended himself. 

"Yes, well, whatever," Tony shrugged. "And it's officially the holiday season, so-- here." He inserted the DVD into the player and gestured for everyone to be quiet.

The film turned out to be much more fun even than the picture book at school, particularly Scrooge, who was played by a human actor who managed to convey his character's ill temper and bad character while simultaneously managing to express traits worthy of salvage, to say nothing of an impression he was having more fun than should really be permissible. 

The Muppet film was followed by something chosen by Clint, featuring considerably more firepower, but Loki did not see anything beyond the opening scene, having fallen asleep with his head on Thor's shoulder. At some point he was aware of being shaken gently awake and led upstairs, but he was hardly conscious of who did so. It transpired that turkey coma resulted in peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

~oOo~

It was to be expected that no one who participated in the previous evening's repast would wish to eat anything else for at least a week, but when Loki and Annie ventured downstairs at just before noon, they discovered everyone else already awake and in the kitchen, eating turkey-and-dressing sandwiches on toasted bread. Loki was surprised to find himself hungry enough to join in, and the first bite explained to him why there had been such care taken to ensure leftover turkey. 

"The dinner's always great," Coulson explained as he handed over cranberry sauce, "but the leftovers are even better." Loki found himself unable to argue the matter. 

He was too much occupied with his sandwich to notice who was first to mention Harry Potter, but somehow-- perhaps the turkey hangover was to blame-- the table-talk turned into a general discussion of which House each member of the group would be Sorted into, should they find themselves at Hogwarts. It was Jane who brought up the Online Sorting Hat, and Tony who provided a laptop and slips of paper to mark down their answers so everyone could take the test at once. 

The results were in some ways not surprising: any who knew Bruce and Jane would expect them, with their intelligence, to belong in Ravenclaw. Likewise, Thor being sent to Gryffindor, and Fury, Coulson and Natasha to Slytherin, were no more surprising than Annie once again being Sorted into Hufflepuff. 

Tony, however, was not at all pleased to find himself in Slytherin.

"Oh _hell_ no," he protested. "Have you seen the colours of my suit? There's no _way_ I don’t belong in Gryffindor." 

"Bunch of brave, noble assholes," said Clint, who was apparently shaken by his assignment to that very House, along with Pepper and Rhodey. 

"What's Hufflepuff like?" asked Steve, looking at his own results. Loki took his arm and Annie told him happily, 

"You'll love it there."

"They value hard work, kindness, and loyalty," Pepper explained. 

"Losers," Clint coughed, and Natasha hit him. 

"Where are you assigned, Loki?" asked Rhodey, when he had finished commiserating with Clint. 

"Also Hufflepuff," Loki replied defiantly, and trying to keep the relief out of his voice: he had feared he might forget the appropriate answers and find himself assigned... somewhere else. 

_"Hufflepuff,"_ Tony demanded. _"Hufflepuff?_ The _God of Mischief?_ How'd you manage _that?_ And what do you have in mind while you're there?"

"I merely answered the questions," Loki defended himself. "It was the Hat who made the decision."

Tony's eyes lit up. "You gamed it, didn't you? You tricked the Sorting Hat into putting you into the House you wanted. That's a pretty Slytherin stunt, for a Hufflepuff. Seriously, Loki, that's genius. What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Loki insisted. It was ridiculous to feel so defensive over a _game,_ but he could not help it. "I am not up to anything. And if I am assigned to Hufflepuff, I never _will_ be."

Tony looked at him again, eyes glinting, and opened his mouth-- then suddenly closed it. 

"Okay," he said, with a sudden expression of understanding. "Sure. Hufflepuff it is."

"Glad to have you," Steve smiled, and,

"I'm not at all sure we shouldn't worry about a quarter of the gang being put in Slytherin," Bruce spoke up quickly. 

"Better than freaking _Gryffindor_ ," argued Clint, although it was not clear whether he was helping to take the focus off Loki or was simply still offended. "That's all we need, charge into a situation all up-front and noble and get our _asses_ handed to us."

"Come now," Thor intervened, "there is more to each House than its cardinal qualities. Is not Hermione Granger a Gryffindor, despite being the brightest witch of her age ever known?" He glanced around as though challenging anyone to argue with him. The others looked far too surprised at the evidence Thor had read the Harry Potter books to do anything of the kind. Loki wondered whether the rest of the group quite understood how strange it was for _any_ of them to be so well-versed.

"Have we missed all the football on this weekend?" Clint asked next, and Coulson suddenly looked alert. Well, more alert than usual. 

"Actually, no. I just remembered, it's Grey Cup Sunday. Alouettes versus Stampeders, in Winnipeg. It's on later this afternoon."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "Is that the Canadian Football League?" he demanded. 

"Sure," Coulson replied. Clint muttered an oath. "Come on, Barton, it's better than NFL football and you know it." Clint opened his mouth again, and Loki cast a spell of silence over him until he seemed to calm down. Coulson gave him a bland look and then put some more bread in the toaster. 

Despite Clint's protests, when the game began everyone was to be found together on the squashy couches. Annie and Loki had no idea what to expect, and the only explanation for the game offered was by Coulson, to Steve, and it was more than incomplete:

"It's a bigger field, with one fewer down, one more man on the field, and no fair catches. There are a few other differences in the rules but those are the most obvious ones." Coulson looked thoughtful, then went on, "And you said one day that you have trouble relating to modern athletes and their huge salaries. Well-- "

"Well, then, you'll _love_ the CFL," Clint snickered. "Because those guys are paid _nothing."_

"Well," Steve said cheerfully, "I'm convinced." Clint groaned. 

Despite having no idea what was going on, Loki and Thor decided they would cheer for the Stampeders of Calgary, in their red-and-black uniforms. Steve good-naturedly opted for the Alouettes of Montreal, in their red-white-and-blue. Coulson also supported the Alouettes, although his reasons had less to do with their uniforms than their "quarterback," whatever that was. Regardless, by the time the game began, it was also time for more sandwiches, which held Loki's attention nicely. 

And actually, by the time the game was well underway, Loki and Annie were both beginning to understand what was going on. Apparently, the object of the game was to transport the ball from one end of the field to the other, against opposition from defensive players apparently bent upon squashing the ball-carrier into a fine paste on the field. 

Such squashing seemed exceedingly likely, based both on the size of the defenders-- many of whom bore a truly remarkable resemblance to Volstagg-- and also owing to the field being completely frozen. After ten or fifteen minutes of watching the players' breath steam into the air, almost everyone in the group had to put on sweaters. 

"Where are they playing?" asked Thor. "Jotunheim?"

"Winnipeg," Coulson replied. 

"So: close," Fury added. 

Partway through the first half of the game, snow began to fall quite hard on the field and the bundled-up humans in the stands-- none of whom seemed at all inclined to leave. Loki found himself wondering whether they were all frozen solid, and also how anyone could hold a ball, let alone throw it, with his hands frozen into claws. The Alouettes' quarterback, a man whose expression of calm competence made it clear why Coulson admired him, seemed to have little difficulty. Indeed, he also showed little fear of the phalanx of Volstaggs bearing down upon him as he squared around to throw the ball. Loki found himself wondering how he could even see what he was throwing at, with his vision so obstructed by large men. 

By the halfway point of the game, Loki had quite forgotten which team he was cheering for: he found himself mostly interested in the continued health and welfare of whichever quarterback was currently throwing. 

And, in spite of his complaints, by the fourth "quarter" of the game Clint seemed just as interested as anyone, and seemed to have thrown his support behind Coulson's team, who despite their best efforts were trailing by three points. With less than a minute to go, the Alouettes executed something called an "on-side kick" and got the ball back, then the quarterback released a long, high spiraling throw that sailed into the arms of a player running into the "end zone" and the game was effectively over. Loki found himself being embraced by Clint, and Annie would have been crushed between the two of them, if she had not been a ghost. 

"See?" Coulson said, coolly triumphant. " _Much_ better football." Clint recovered his dignity and made an obscene gesture at him. Loki, who still did not understand exactly _what_ this game was supposed to be "better than" asked, 

"Is it really?"

Coulson very nearly smirked. "No, it just annoys Clint when I say so." 

Annie stretched. "Loki, I think it might be time we thought about going home."

"I had just begun to think the same thing," Loki agreed, rather reluctantly. In spite of missing George, and Mitchell, and the kittens and Scamp and his own bed, he found himself wishing the visit could go on for a day or two longer-- so long as he was not asked to eat another enormous meal any time soon. 

"What, you're going?" asked Tony, when he understood what Loki was saying. "Hang on, though, you have to take some leftovers home to the guys. I'll put a container together for you."

Pepper rose gracefully to her feet. "I'll do that."

"Nope," Tony said cheerfully, "you're not supposed to be lifting a finger, and that definitely counts as finger-lifting. Loki, I'll do that while you pack."

Loki and Annie went upstairs, and while Loki was stuffing his belongings into his backpack, there was a tap at the door. Loki opened it, and Thor was revealed on the other side. Annie took one look at Thor's anxious face and vanished.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked hesitantly.

"Nearly," Loki replied. 

Thor twisted his hands together. "Before you leave... you did say you would show me-- "

Loki stared at him for a moment, blinking in confusion. And then-- "My Jotun form. Yes, of course. I had nearly forgotten." He could have bitten his tongue out when he realized what he had said-- _My promise to you was not important enough to remember_ \-- but for some reason Thor was suddenly smiling. 

"You forgot?" he asked. Loki nodded. "Only forgot?"

"Yes," Loki spluttered. "What with... the silly games, and all the food, and... I just forgot." He fidgeted. "I am sorry. It is not that I do not consider it important-- "

Thor nodded, still smiling. "Or, apparently, anything to worry about."

Loki blinked. "Apparently not," he said, smiling as well. "I can show you now, if you like." Thor nodded, and Loki reconsidered. "Although... perhaps a bath towel would be preferable to these trousers. As I said, my Jotun form seems much bigger these days. One moment." He stepped into the hall and nearly ran slap into Annie. 

"What are you doing?" she asked. 

"I promised to show Thor my Jotun form. Only... " Loki gestured, indicating something much taller and broader than himself. Annie stared at him, Loki tugged at his shirt, and somehow Annie got the message. 

"Right. Well. Perhaps I'll leave you to it, then." 

A moment later, holding a bath towel around his waist, Loki stepped back into the bedchamber. 

"Ready?" he asked Thor, and now he was suddenly nervous. Thor raised his eyebrows, the picture of friendly interest, and nodded. Loki took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reached for the feeling of cold through his body. 

A moment later, he heard a muffled intake of breath and snapped open his eyes. 

And looked down into Thor's astonished face. 

Astonished, mind. Only astonished. Not horrified, or frightened, or disgusted, or any of the things Loki once would have expected of him. He was only surprised. 

And then Thor _laughed._ Brought his hand to his mouth, and laughed, and said, "My _little_ brother." 

Loki looked down at his big brother standing before him, and found himself laughing, too. 

~oOo~

George and Mitchell were on the sofa, each with a kitten on his lap and Scamp stretched out on her back between them, when Annie and Loki walked into the house. Loki waved. Annie looked at the pizza boxes and crumpled crisp bags on the floor, raised her eyebrows-- and then vanished, presumably upstairs to make sure her room was not in wreckage. 

"I would clean that up, if I were you," Loki remarked. 

"In good time," Mitchell said lazily. 

"Welcome back," said George. 

"Good to see you," Loki replied, and looked around the room. The garbage got up and, under the interested eyes of his housemates-- to say nothing of Philip, Elizabeth, and Scamp-- marched into the kitchen, where it scrambled into the rubbish bin under the sink. 

"The question is, why don't we always clean that way?" George asked. 

"Because I have professional standards," Loki replied. "And so do you." He reached into one of his inter-dimensional hidey-holes and retrieved two plastic containers.

"What are those?" Mitchell asked, perking up. 

"Brussels sprouts," Loki replied, handing him the container of turkey and dressing, and the second of apple pie. "With love from Thor and Tony Stark."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which Loki gets back to work, everyone gets back to plans of all sorts, and we change the name of the deputy head teacher and retrospectively fix the previous chapters: I meant to name her after a character in **Little Mosque On the Prairie** , not a kind of cheese! 
> 
> This is one of those transitional chapters. We are, finally, beginning to get somewhere!
> 
> **Warnings** : In case we need some. 

Monday morning brought heavy rain, and with it wet, muddy footprints that must be mopped from the entryway-- indeed, from all the halls on the ground floor, and the stairwells too, since the children tracked the wet everywhere. It was a matter of ongoing fascination to Loki, how beings with such small feet could carry so much water with them. Of course, much of it had dripped from their waterproof coats, which now hung on hooks outside each classroom. 

Their doors were all closed now. From inside each room Loki could hear a murmur of small voices, and the larger ones of the teachers, humming away at their lessons. If he wished, it would take little effort to hear exactly what they were saying, but he respected the message of the closed door and permitted the voices to remain a murmur at the edge of his hearing as he worked. 

The floors were now clean, but still wet, which rendered them hazardous to anyone walking carelessly upon them. Or running like something fired from a catapult, which was of course the normal ambulation of children. Loki was aware that running in the halls was forbidden, and therefore any child who fell in the course of such activity would have only him- or herself to blame. However, it was unlikely a parent would have much sympathy for such an explanation of how their offspring was injured. And besides, any means of protecting children which relied upon children refraining from behaving like children seemed doomed to failure. 

Loki was under firm instruction from the head teacher, Mrs. Kingston, to refrain from using magic within the school. He was therefore very careful to ensure he was alone as he cast drying spells upon the floors and the children's outdoor raiment. The waterproof coats and boots were no longer dripping, it was true, but a little investigation revealed they were clammy, which would be uncomfortable and apt to cause a chill in any who wore them. There seemed no harm in using a very small, really almost negligible, spell to ensure they were entirely dry and cozy when the children put them on again at the end of the day. 

He had begun with the nursery class, working his way methodically through the school, and was just finishing with Year Six when he glanced up and saw Mrs. Kingston walking down the hall toward him. There was a file folder under her arm, and a look of purpose on her face. Drawing on… certain skills learned in his previous life… Loki banished any consciousness of guilt from his own expression (really, what harm could come of a simple drying spell?) resisted the childish urge to hide his hands behind his back (no evidence of the spell clung to them anyway) and bent a glance of respectful interrogation upon the head teacher. 

Who glanced at the neat array of boots and raincoats, and the dry and shiny floor, and smiled at him. 

"I understand you spoke to Ms. Hamoudi last week," she said, following the school's convention of using formal address to refer to a fellow staff member even when no children were present. (Some of the children referred to Carol as "Mrs. Hart," but she did not insist upon it. When Loki arrived he had not understood these standard forms of address until it was too late, and so "Loki" he was and would probably remain. He supposed that if he did indeed become a teacher, he would find it necessary to convince himself as well as others that his name was "Mr. Odinson.")

"I did," Loki nodded, trying to decide what expression would be the most appropriate for this conversation. He settled on what he hoped was a trustworthy one, and waited.

"Well," said Mrs. Kingston, taking the folder from under her arm and extending it to him, "if you have any interest in the idea, this may be of use to you." Loki accepted the folder and she explained, "This is some information on the Access to Higher Education program." Loki must have looked blank, because she went on, "A lot of people leave school without taking the qualifications that would allow them to go on to university, but then later decide they would like to do so after all. The Access to HE program lets them take equivalent qualifications so they can go on to the course of study they want. I've printed out some general information on the system, as well as contact information for the Access program at City of Bristol College. If you would like to pursue this, you should make an appointment to talk to someone there. 

"There actually is a specific course that would prepare you for initial teacher training, but it's very competitive. You may need to take some preliminary courses first, or get a certain amount of classroom experience before you apply." She smiled. "We can help you with the second part, if you're interested. You might not end in teaching at this school, and we really would hate to lose you, but we would hate it a lot worse if we felt your abilities were being wasted." A flicker of concern crossed her expression and she added, "The whole process could take several years, but if you're really interested in a career in education it will be time well spent."

It was only with difficulty that Loki resisted the impulse to laugh in Mrs. Kingston's kindly, well-meaning face. Only his respect for her, and his gratitude for what she was trying to do for him, enabled him to hold it back. _Several years,_ she said, as though it was a hardship. As though he had not lived more than _nine hundred_ of her years, and wasted well over half of that time with useless festering, and envy, and _wishing_ for things he could not define, and did not really believe he would ever be allowed to have anyway. To spend five, or ten, or twenty Midgardian years working toward a prize he could have simply by earning it? Loki was not a patient creature, but he could hardly imagine himself becoming exasperated or losing interest over such a tiny period of time as that. 

He maintained his composure, thanked her sincerely, then retreated to the custodians' room to put away his implements and tuck the folder into his backpack. It fitted in nicely beside the second folder, containing short student essays on Bulgaria and the Czech Republic. (Apparently, writing essays for Loki's edification had become something of a sport in Ms. Hamoudi's Year Four class. Loki found them fascinating, although he had sense enough to do some independent fact-checking before he believed all that was written in them.) (Such fact-checking had revealed, somewhat to his surprise, that one of the principle exports of Italy really _was_ Fiats. Though, sadly, not spaghetti.) 

By this time it was late morning, and Loki was beginning to feel hungry. He resisted the urge to begin on his lunch, although the turkey-and-dressing sandwich he had packed (George and Mitchell each had the same, which finished the turkey, and they would divide the apple pie tonight) was undeniably tempting. Saving the sandwich for later, he took an apple (not one of Thor's) from his lunch bag and ate it while reviewing his list of duties for the week and deciding what to do next. There were a variety of jobs that must be performed regularly, and Loki tried to get the heavier ones out of the way in the early part of the week, so that Carol would not feel compelled to do them. 

Ordinarily, Loki was hard to sneak up on. However, his mind was occupied, the apple was crunchy, and (perhaps most importantly) he was far less guarded these days, especially here at the school. 

So he was taken quite by surprise when there came a voice at the door of the little custodians' room:

"Loki?"

He did not start, or visibly show surprise-- Loki was far too old a hand for that-- but his stomach dropped violently even as he turned toward the doorway. 

"Owen," he greeted the other man, setting down the apple and rising to his feet. He held up his hands a little, in a gesture indicating they were sticky with apple juice, and so he could not shake hands. Then he said, "I am surprised to see you: visitors to the school are required to check in at the office, and then are escorted wherever they need to go." He was _in the school, intheschoolintheschool--_

Owen offered a little shrug, and a smile he probably thought was charming. "Figured it wouldn't do any harm to just come find you."

The last creature who had made himself free to "just come find" Loki here at his workplace was the vampire Herrick, in his guise as a police officer. Now, of course, the rhinoceros charm protected the school from incursion by ill-intentioned supernatural creatures. Loki spent a fleeting moment considering how he might alter the spell to also protect the building and its grounds from malevolent humans. Surely it could be done. A spell of invisibility would probably have to accompany it, so the children would not be frightened by the sight of what happened to such individuals--

The whole idea was probably far too complicated to succeed. Still, the mental image of Owen being hurled across the yard, and then trampled, by a black rhinoceros was sweet enough to enable Loki to finally smile back at him. 

"Is this regarding our boiler?" he asked. He did not wish to be rude-- well, of course, he _did_ wish to be rude, as well as accusatory and violent, but that was neither here nor there-- but surely Owen had not sensed the similarities Loki had, and decided there was an affinity. This could not possibly be a purely _friendly_ visit. 

With an effort, Loki held his expression of friendly interrogation, and even Owen the great liar seemed to fall for it. 

Or possibly Owen was not interested enough in other people to pay any attention to whether they were telling him lies. Loki's interest in falsehood had always gone both ways, because his lies had always been largely defensive in nature, and an element of that defense had been careful study of any who might wish to hurt or manipulate him in turn. (Which had, of course, led to a screaming breakdown when he learned the only creatures he had trusted never to lie to him had in fact been, by his definition, doing so all his life.)

Owen, however, appeared quite supremely confident that nothing could hurt him, and no one would ever find him out. Loki wondered what other people even looked like to Owen. Did he literally see them as ants beneath his notice?

He jerked his mind back to the present as Owen said, 

"Yes, it is, I guess. I was passing the school and remembered you worked here. I just wanted to let you know I should be able to get the new parts for it by the weekend-- " Loki spared himself a moment to wonder what _new_ parts were these, when Owen had given no sign of noticing that some of the _old_ parts were in the wrong places-- "and I'll get the repairs done then."

"Thank you," Loki said, using every bit of his talent as a liar and cheat to get the words out. "We will all appreciate that."

Owen now gave a most convincing portrayal of guilt. Or, perhaps, since his tenants were men, he truly felt they deserved a little consideration. "Look, I really am sorry about not getting back to you before this. My... partner... and I have been having a little trouble lately and my mind hasn't been on everything it should." Again, the would-be charming smile. "You know how women are."

"Intrepid, loyal, and worthy of trust?" Loki replied, with a charming smile of his own. Owen laughed, as though Loki had not spoken the exact truth with regard to the women of his acquaintance. Loki, in turn, restrained himself from incinerating Owen where he stood, and politely but firmly escorted the man from the school. 

His hands were shaking a little when he returned to his list of tasks, and his apple no longer held any attraction. Even his turkey-and-dressing sandwich no longer tempted him. He added the loss of that pleasure as a footnote to his list of grudges held against Owen as he carried his lunch bag upstairs to the staff lounge, to put in the refrigerator for tomorrow. 

Matters would have to be settled with Owen, and soon. That was certain. The only question still left was the all-important one: how?

~oOo~

This was a day when Loki both arrived at and left work early, and ordinarily he would have gone directly home. However, a thought had occurred to him, and so before Carol arrived he sent a text message to Annie, asking her for particulars on Janey Harris's workplace. He then used the map function on his mobile to find directions to the place. 

At the end of his work day, Loki bid Carol a good afternoon and set out in the direction of his usual bus stop. As he walked down the street, however, he cloaked himself in one of his favourite glamours, so that no one he passed would notice him, and applied a small, partial shapeshifting spell to alter his appearance when he allowed himself to be seen again. 

The shift was extremely minor, a matter of adding a little colour to his complexion, slightly altering his eye colour from grayish-green to grayish-blue, and turning his hair into a mop of blond curls. The disguise took very little effort to maintain, and ensured that no one would connect this frankly harmless-looking human with the black-haired sorcerer who rented the pink house on the terrace. 

Thus disguised, Loki consulted his mobile again, orienting himself to the location of the tanning salon where Janey worked. Then he made one of his short local "jumps" from one known location to the next, and allowed the concealing glamour to slide away as he walked along the street toward the salon. 

There was no sign of Janey Harris as he stepped through the door. Instead, he was greeted by the other young woman, the blonde of whom Annie had spoken. She glanced up with a bright professional smile, and Loki smiled back as he entered. 

"I wonder," he said, with a carefully calculated air of self-deprecating friendliness-- and also a hint of an Irish accent rather like Mitchell's-- "if I could ask you for some information about your, your services." His smile was brightly innocent as he went on, "My girlfriend and I are planning a trip to Majorca, in the spring, and she's been a little fussed about looking pale in her swimsuit. You know, after the winter?" 

In the back of his mind, Loki felt pleased at his ability to sound so human. It would be taxing to maintain for very long, but he was sure he could get through this interaction without requirement of a spell to make this young woman ignore his diction. 

The blonde smiled again, a more human and friendly smile this time. "Well, you've come to the right place to do something about that. We do gift certificates, if you're thinking of giving them to her as a present."

"Yes, exactly," Loki nodded, pleased at her understanding. "I was thinking for Christmas." Then he permitted a shadow to fall across his face. "Only... I have to admit, I am a little concerned about... I worry about the affect it might have on her skin? I've heard it's not necessarily good for you?"

The young woman frowned and nodded, with an air of taking his concerns seriously. Truly, as far as Loki was concerned, the overly-cooked appearance of her own complexion was all the warning any reasonable person should need. However, clearly some humans found this appearance attractive. 

"Is she very fair?" the blonde asked. 

"Yes," Loki replied immediately. He had not given much thought to this fictitious girlfriend, but now he instinctively separated Annie from any connection to this place. "Very fair. She has red hair," he explained, and the blonde nodded. 

"I'd definitely recommend caution, then, but there isn't any reason she shouldn't do a reasonable amount of tanning." Professionally self-serving as the answer was, Loki still appreciated her acknowledgement of his-- or, rather, his character's-- perfectly reasonable concern. The blonde woman looked under the counter, saying, "We have some information brochures here, that explain the potential problems and how to avoid them." Loki rather felt the best way to avoid such problems was to refrain from enclosing oneself in a box lined with bright lights, but pasted an expression of sincere interest on his face and held his tongue. 

Loki had not come here with clearly thought-out plan. Instead, it had occurred to him that he wanted to see how Janey interacted with the coworker Annie had mentioned. He had hoped the other woman would prove sympathetic, and willing to offer support, if Janey decided to rid herself of Owen. 

The fact Janey was not here at the moment meant he was probably going to have to return, perhaps in disguise as his own fictitious girlfriend. Well, if that was what it took...

And then the blonde straightened, with a handful of folded pamphlets printed from a computer, and laid them on the counter. Loki picked one up, glanced at the printed defense of cooking oneself in a tanning bed, and then focused on the photograph on the cover, which showed the blonde standing next to one of the tanning beds. 

Suddenly hopeful, Loki examined the pamphlet more closely. And there, on the back, was another picture, this one of the entire staff, which consisted of half a dozen people. Second from the left was--

"Wait, excuse me, this is going to sound weird but-- is that Janey Harris?" he asked, injecting a note of naïve surprise into his voice.

The blonde woman looked up in equal, though of course in her case genuine, surprise. "You know Janey?"

"Not well," Loki said quickly. "She knew my girlfriend when they both lived in London." He frowned thoughtfully at the image, at Janey's silly-looking, smiling little face, while at the same time gently pushing a spell toward the blonde woman that would cause her to forget to ever mention this supposed friend to Janey. (Loki knew it was wrong to alter people's memories or place controls on their minds, but if this lie was revealed it might undermine the blonde woman's belief in the whole situation. All things considered, the spell seemed the lesser evil.) 

When he was sure the charm was set, Loki went on, with artistic hesitance, 

"Do you happen to know whether she's involved with a bloke named Owen?" 

The blonde's attention suddenly sharpened. "Yes. What do you know about Owen?"

"An-- gela, my girlfriend, met him a few times in London. He was engaged to someone at the time, and... look, you know how it is, when you know people in common and hear rumours, but... his fiancée died."

"Yes," the blonde nodded. "Janey told me about that."

Loki took a deep breath and, with an air of forcing himself to speak, said, "Well-- and take this with a grain of salt, it really might only be talk-- ever since then, there have been rumours that he... that Owen was somehow involved."

The blonde's eyes widened. Loki, however, noted that she did not truly look surprised. She was startled to hear the words come out of someone's mouth, but they were words she had thought of. 

Lowering her voice, though as far as Loki could tell there was no one else in the salon, the blonde woman asked, "What makes you-- makes people-- think that?"

Loki shrugged, a picture of embarrassment. "There is no-- there isn't any proof. Just... the fiancée... my girlfriend says she always had that watchful look, like she knew she had to keep Owen happy at any price. And-- " he gestured at his wrists-- "long sleeves. Always. And she'd flinch a little if he made a sudden move. She'd pretend it was funny, but... it always made my girlfriend, made Angela, uncomfortable, but she didn’t know the other girl well enough to feel she could speak up. And when we found out she'd died..."

He shrugged again, and the blonde woman nodded. Annie's description of the blonde had left the impression she was a great deal less silly than Janey, and not at all helpless, not like the foolish regretful characters he was spinning. It had made Loki hope Janey might not be quite alone after all, despite Owen's best efforts. The expression on her face was cause for cautious optimism. 

And now he must not linger. He picked up the brochure on tanning safety, and another on rates and services, and stuffed them in his pockets. 

"Do you know what, I don't think this is the kind of present I should give as a surprise. I think I'll show her these and ask her what she thinks. Thank you very much-- ?"

"Tracey," the blonde automatically supplied her name. 

"Tracey," Loki said. She did not seem to notice him not identifying himself. He smiled again and left the salon. 

Halfway up the street, he gathered the glamour around himself, let his appearance return to normal, and transported himself home.

~oOo~

By tea time, Loki was sufficiently recovered to be able to enjoy his apple pie, and to tell the others about his encounter with Owen. None of his friends thought he was overreacting to the threat posed by Owen inside the school, although they all agreed on consideration that the rhinoceros charm might not be entirely adaptable to the task of driving away nasty humans. 

"What if a school inspector with a bad disposition showed up?" Mitchell asked. "Wouldn't do you much good if he got himself hammered out into the street."

"No, I suppose not," Loki admitted, licking a fingertip to pick up the last sweet crumbs of pastry. 

"I don't quite see why you didn't tell the Avengers about Owen," George spoke up. "Surely they could do something about him?"

Annie sighed. "Not within the law, they couldn't. There's only my word for it, and even if ghosts were allowed to be witnesses, there's the whole business of my not remembering anything about it until a few days ago."

"And that would stop Natasha how?" Mitchell inquired. 

"It would stop Steve. And Tony," Annie said. "Their job is to deal with threats from other worlds, emergencies that affect everyone or that are too big for the regular police. Not ordinary murders that are a matter for the law." Even Loki looked dubious, and Annie said patiently, "Loki, what happened last summer, to you and to Agent Coulson, the whole horrible mess at SHIELD-- that went on partly because everyone at the agency thought they could do _anything_ to carry out whatever mission they decided on. They replaced Director Fury and made it look like some back-room decision nobody was expected to explain or to question. They made you _disappear,_ the way death squads do in totalitarian countries. 

"And nobody except Agent Coulson had the guts to do anything about it, because even before SHIELD started really _acting_ above the law, they probably _believed_ they were above the law. As far as they were concerned, rules about due process, and torture and, and national sovereignty-- none of that applied to SHIELD. They didn't expect anyone to question their actions, and they didn’t even question _themselves._ That wasn't just the agency, that was the _people in the agency_. They didn't question what they were doing, just followed the Wraiths into evil because they told themselves that whatever they did was right, just because _they_ were the ones doing it. And after a while, it was really hard to tell the difference between the heroes and the villains."

"I seem to recall Tony telling me of an impassioned speech Steve made, on that very subject, after Tony and Coulson rescued me," Loki admitted. 

"Yes," Annie said. "That doesn't surprise me."

Mitchell shook his head. "I don't think they always live up to those standards even when they're not under the control of Dire Wraiths."

"No," Annie admitted, "I suppose not. Not when the fate of the world really is at stake. But this isn't the fate of the world, this is some grubby little git who hurts women. And I mean-- obviously, that's serious. But not fate-of-the-world, vital emergency serious."

"Suppose _we_ were to ignore the law?" Loki asked, quite seriously. "Suppose _we_ were to take vengeance? Because I have to tell you, Annie, I am increasingly worried about Janey, and Owen's future victims. You know there will be future victims." 

"So am I," Annie admitted. "But I still don't want to ask the Avengers to get their hands dirty for us."

Loki was rather glad they had waited until after pie to have this conversation.

Annie made a gesture as though pushing something away with both hands. "Let's forget about Owen for a minute. There's something else I need to do."

"And what is that?" Loki asked, setting his plate on the coffee table and permitting the kittens to pile into his lap. 

Annie looked uneasy. "I've said before, that I want to talk to Catherine about... about talking to my mother and father. I haven't contacted her yet, but I think... I think I need to."

"Yes," Loki said. "I am sure it will be of great comfort to all of you." 

The bookshelf beside the door began to tremble, books sliding forward and then back into their places. Loki, George, and Mitchell turned toward it, but nothing flew from the shelves.

As he turned back to Annie, Loki found himself remembering something that had occurred to him before, but which he had never felt able to follow up. 

"It occurs to me," he said gently, "that _comfort_ may not be what is needed between you, at least not at first. Because these... outbreaks... of your powers. They do not seem only to happen when you think of Owen, and what he did to you. They seem to be a great deal worse when you think of-- "

Annie's mouth twisted, and Loki had to suppress the urge to put his arms around her and tell her never mind, everything would be all right. Instead, he waited while she struggled for words, and finally said, haltingly, 

"Those things they told you, in the cemetery. About worrying about me. About not knowing why I kept picking the boys I did... as if it was nothing to do with them." 

"And it was," Loki said quietly. Annie nodded.

Loki leaned over and put his arms around her.

~oOo~

Although he had the script firmly in his mind, Loki still felt surprisingly nervous as he punched in the numbers on his mobile. Annie, on the other end of the sofa, was just as tense as he was, and both Mitchell and George practically hugged themselves in their efforts to keep quiet. 

Three rings on the other end, and then a woman's voice said, 

"Hello?"

"Hello," Loki said, grateful that his part permitted him to sound a little hesitant. "Am I speaking to Mrs. Sawyer?"

"Yes." The voice was guarded, prepared to tell him she did not wish to purchase anything he wanted to sell. Loki hastily went on,

"I hope you remember me-- we met at, at the cemetery in Bristol, just over a week ago? I was... a friend of your daughter, Annie." There was a pause. It drew out painfully before Loki prompted, "Mrs. Sawyer? Are you there?"

"Yes. I'm just wondering... why you're calling."

"I apologize for being so... for overstepping in this matter. I do not mean to cause hurt or offense. It is only... I am still in Bristol, and a day or two ago I happened to stop into a tea room here in the city. It belongs to a woman named Catherine Bennett, who is... a medium."

"A _what?"_ Annie's mother demanded. 

Loki burst into hurried speech, which suited his character in this interaction, but also reflected his genuine fear she might hang up on him. "She is a medium. I apologize if speaking of such matters offends or disturbs you, but after I talked to her I could not help thinking of you and your husband. Catherine Bennett believes she can contact Annie, so that you can, can have a last conversation with her. If you think it would... help."

"You've already asked this woman to contact Annie?"

Loki squirmed. "No. I only... I thought of it, but... Annie was more important to me than I was to Annie, I think, and so it would be... inappropriate for me to call upon her. But... I have her telephone number. Ms. Bennett's. You could call her, if you wished, and arrange a meeting-- "

"How did you get this number?" Annie's mother asked. 

"The London directory," Loki replied promptly. "At the cemetery, you and your husband spoke to each other by name, and I remembered them. Max and Carmen. I could not stop thinking about Annie, and you, and so I looked you up. I promise I will leave you alone, I will not pester you, but... I was unable to come to Annie's assistance, when she needed someone to help her. I cannot tell you how much I regret that. And so I thought I would at least offer you this. It is all I can do for Annie, to give you this number and let you decide what you would do about it."

There was a very long silence on the other end of the line. Loki was unsure whether anyone was there. A trickle of perspiration slithered down his spine and he suppressed a shudder. 

Finally, from very far away, Annie's mother spoke. 

"That's very... it's kind of you. Thank you." Another long pause. Then: "Please tell me the phone number."

Loki swallowed hard, and did.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** I don't believe Annie's sister is ever named in the show, so I made one up. George and Mitchell's exchange in the doorway is stolen from the show.
> 
> I have never participated in a séance. I used to watch Ghost Whisperer on Friday nights when I needed a sentimental weep, so Catherine's technique owes more to that program than anything else. (Well, I wasn't going to borrow the creeptastic automatic writing from The Changeling!) The content of the family discussion owes a lot to some young-adult "problem novels" I read when I was a teenager back in the eighties. And, of course, quite a lot to real life experiences, not all of them my own
> 
>  **Warnings:** Family angst. Like,  considerable family angst, some of it possibly triggery, because I just feel like there must be something behind Annie's insecurity and the self-destructive choices she made. But rest assured, there are no evil parents in the offing. Promise.

Annie's plan to contact her family had one obvious weakness: it depended entirely upon the Sawyers deciding to contact Catherine Bennett. If Annie's mother threw away the telephone number, there would be an end to it. 

There were, of course, other ways such contact could be made, and some of them were very simple. If, for instance, Loki and Annie walked into the Sawyer home, and Loki took her parents by the hands, that would certainly solve one problem. It would also create a great many more, revealing as it did the existence of supernatural creatures living in the world of humans. 

The fact Annie, George, and Mitchell were known to the Avengers (and presumably, after last summer, officially to SHIELD as well) was not ideal, and perhaps they should have been more cautious. Still, the comradeship offered by Thor's allies was welcome, and Loki could not find it in himself to regret the trust placed in them. Annie's parents, though, were ordinary mortals, not superheroes with an understanding of secret identities. They might let something slip, and that could endanger everyone-- including them.

Then, too, they might be horrified and afraid, if they knew their daughter lived in their world as a spirit, if they guessed there were other supernatural creatures among them. There was simply no way to be sure, and Annie was unwilling to risk the safety of her family and friends in case things went wrong. 

So. This was Annie' chance to speak again with her parents, and if it failed there would not be another. Knowing this, Annie was visibly tense all evening, glancing occasionally at the house telephone or the pocket of Loki's jacket where his mobile lived. No call came. The evening ended with no word from Catherine Bennett, and when everyone else retired for the night Annie remained on the sofa, Scamp in her lap, looking at nothing. 

Loki lingered at the foot of the stairs after George and Mitchell had gone up. 

"Would you like me to stay with you?" he asked. 

Annie started a little, focused on him, and shook her head with a sad little smile. "No, I think… I need to be alone right now. But thank you. I'll see you in the morning."

Loki nodded, smiled back as encouragingly as he could, and ascended the stairs. 

And then, of course, sleep was a long time coming for him as well. His own ears strained for the sound of his mobile, or the house phone ringing, long after it would have been reasonable for Catherine to call. 

He lay on his back, with the kittens on his chest and thoughts tumbling unchecked through his head. He imagined Mrs. Sawyer, in a house Annie would never see again, setting down the phone and staring at the numbers on the paper before her. Had she thrown it away? If she had, would she later retrieve it, perhaps hide it somewhere she kept things that were precious to her? Had she turned at once to her husband, or was she even now lying awake and wondering what to tell him? Wondering, perhaps, whether the chance of being deceived by a charlatan was worth the tiny possibility of truly speaking to her daughter one last time?

Or perhaps she would tear the slip of paper into tiny pieces, knowing they must learn to live without her. 

As George's parents had. 

Loki had not thought of it in so many words, but he knew that George, when he became a werewolf, had fled his old life for fear of endangering those he loved. They lived, and they were lost to him. As Mitchell's family had lived and been lost to him, when he became a vampire. 

Carefully, so as to disturb the kittens as little as possible, Loki turned onto his side and curled up into a ball. Why had he never thought of this before? He supposed it was because the other three had been together before he arrived, and he so lost that all he could see was the family before him, not all that had been taken from the others. And yet Loki-- the outcast, the banished criminal-- turned out to be the only who still _had_ a family in the conventional sense, one who wanted him yet and to whom he could return. 

He twisted back the other way, hot with shame, no longer caring that he disturbed his bedmates. Truly, there was no end to his selfishness. But surely… he hoped… surely George and Mitchell also knew, if they wished to speak of this, if they needed him… surely they knew he was willing to give to them, instead of only taking?

He hugged his pillow. Surely. 

He turned his thoughts back to Annie's mother, but since he had only met her once, her features were blurred in his mind. Instead, his imagination presented him with a picture of his own mother. And the look on her face...

Loki rolled onto his back again, to sleepily protesting mews from Philip and Elizabeth, who clutched reflexively at the covers as they moved. Loki reached a hand out from under the covers and rubbed their little heads in turn. Which made him think of Tony scratching his head. And then he thought of the weekend spent with his brother and the Avengers. Of the new foods, and the strange version of football, and chunks of wood crashing down on Tony in his suit, and the tiny black-and-grey bird looking up at him with its bright little eyes...

Loki was smiling when he finally drifted off to sleep. 

~oOo~

The next day seemed extraordinarily long to Loki, and he could not imagine how it must have dragged for Annie. The house was rather cleaner than usual when he arrived home that evening, and the smell of a nice curry suggested that Annie had occupied her hands in order to distract her mind. 

She was determinedly cheerful, although her eyes were bleak with disappointment. Scamp clung to her side as though aware of Annie's anxiety and determined to provide comfort. Loki, with similar motives, found occupations for himself that kept him near her until George and Mitchell came home and it was time to serve tea. During the meal she sat on the sofa with Loki, rather closer than usual, as though she found his presence comforting. It was a relief to be able to offer her that, at least.

After tea, the others had just convinced Mitchell that it was his turn to wash up when there came a knock at the front door. Mitchell abandoned his task at once and hurried to open it-- Mitchell had very good manners, and also he hated to wash up. Scamp hopped off the sofa and trotted out of the lounge to join him. As she approached the door, her tail curled happily over her back and began to wag. She uttered a friendly "wuff" at the crack under the door, then yapped excitedly, skipping back and forth, as Mitchell opened it. 

"Catherine!" he exclaimed, pulling the door wide, and the witch looked rather startled by the speed at which he ushered her in. One look at Annie's expression told the story, and Catherine's calm, trustworthy face broke into a very kind smile. 

"Annie," she said. "I've been talking to your parents." Loki was suddenly aware of his hand reaching toward Annie, and her cold fingers closing around his. 

"Yes?" Annie asked, on an indrawn breath. "Are they-- did they say they would-- ?"

Catherine nodded, all calm serenity. "Yes. They've agreed to come on Thursday evening. I told your mother that I'd arrange everything here in Bristol, and she's calling me back tomorrow to hear about the details. I'd like to hold the séance here, if you boys will allow it."

"Here?" George asked in surprise. 

_"Here?"_ echoed Annie.

"Here," Catherine confirmed. "Ordinarily, I would meet the participants in their home: the tea room isn't private enough, or... personal. That's for the sake of the survivors-- the circumstances are upsetting enough, without asking the participants to sit in the dark in a strange place-- as well as the ghosts, who are much easier to reach in a place that had meaning to them in life. 

"And besides, as I was speaking to your mother... I really got the impression she and your father need some sort of closure on _this house._ I think it would be best for your parents to let them come here, have a last conversation with you, and let them go on with their lives." She cast a look of stern kindness upon Annie and added the statement, "This _will_ be the last. Remember, if they're like most humans, they believe you've already passed on to the afterlife, and are coming back to speak to them. They don't know you're still here, and-- "

"It's best if they don't find out," Annie agreed. "Yes. I've already been thinking of that."

Catherine smiled. "I thought you probably had."

Loki spoke up, confused and rather curious about this matter. "When you are asked to speak to the spirits of the dead-- are you truly only able to do so if they are ghosts on this realm?" Catherine nodded. Loki frowned. "What... what do you do, if a family wishes to speak to someone who has, as you say, passed on to the afterlife?"

"I don't know that's the case until I've tried," Catherine explained. "Ordinarily, if someone remains on Earth as a ghost, I'm able to contact them, and they nearly always take the opportunity to speak. If they don't appear, I simply tell their family the truth: that when the business of someone's life really is concluded, they're content in the afterlife and don't respond to my overtures. Sometimes that helps."

Loki, thinking of the well-intentioned, would-be comforting lies he would probably be tempted to spin under such circumstances, felt abashed. He did not ask about the implication Catherine had made that, sometimes, ghosts appeared to her but refused to speak to their families. 

_Looking up at his father's face above him, its features blurred by the tears in his eyes and the effort of holding onto the end of Gungnir. His own voice high and desperate in his ears, trying to justify himself, begging for comfort, for understanding, to be assured he was loved after all._

_"No, Loki."_

He knew, now, what it must have cost his father to say those words, even though there was only one way to save Loki and this was necessary in order to do it. But he also remembered the blow they had struck, those two words, how the last flicker of hope had died in his heart. 

_"No, Loki."_ That was all Father had _said._ What Loki had _heard_ was, _"No, Loki. You are not worthy of a place in Asgard, or to be my son, and nothing you do can ever change that. The deception is over. I do not love you, and I never did."_

So he had heard. And so he had let go, to fall to his death. 

And yet he had not.

He had lived here on Midgard, with his friends, making himself a place with them and trying to be worthy, at least, of that. He understood himself to have been disowned, had tried his best to accept it humbly, in his mind and his heart. He called the King and Queen of Asgard by their titles, paying respect as any banished former subject should. He had not really noticed himself making an exception for Thor, calling him "brother," clinging still despite the wreckage that clinging had caused. He had tried to make peace with the loss of his family, knowing he had done it to himself and deserved to be cast out.

But after all that, if his father had come looking for him, wanting to explain, wanting him _back_... had Loki been able to hide away and refuse to speak to him-- would he have done so?

No. 

Loki was a creature of stubbornness and stupidity and pride, but he could not have stood against anything that looked like an overture, an offer of forgiveness or reconciliation. He had not expected such a thing, had never hoped for it, but had it been held out to him, he would have seized it with both hands-- _had_ seized it, when the offer came-- especially if he knew it would be his last chance to speak to his father.

What sort of miseries could be the lot of mortals, to be brought to such a place, made such an offer, and to refuse it? 

Once, when he lived on Asgard looking down upon the other realms, Loki had believed-- had been taught to believe-- the humans of Midgard, because their lives were so short, could not possibly feel things very deeply or understand very much. They simply had not the _time._

Loki had believed that, as much of Asgard seemed to believe it. He had never had much interest in Midgard, but he supposed, if he thought about the mortals at all, he had assumed them to be dull little creatures. It was only after living here that he began to understand, when one is so constantly aware of the brevity of life, everything seems to be felt and experienced much more _intensely._ Joy, love, fear--

And possibly hatred and anger, too. Perhaps that was the reason for their constant wars and incursions against one another: feelings were intense, but lives were short, and memories too. Matters of ancient history to Midgard were remembered yet by many on Asgard. Invasion by the Jotnar had receded into myth here, though the resulting war had ended within Loki's own short lifetime. Steve Rogers' war, though only decades past, was a matter for the humans' history books, directly remembered only by a dwindling number of aging mortals, as more recent concerns took their place in the people's minds. They were intensely concerned with _now,_ and felt things at least as strongly as any Aesir.

Perhaps, too, this explained how some mortals could carry their hurt and anger into the afterlife, cherish it and refuse Catherine's offer of a final chance for reconciliation and understanding. 

He thought of Annie, of the expression on her face as she spoke of her parents and what they thought and believed about her. He thought of her newly-discovered powers, powers she could not control when she thought of her mother and father, and whatever hurts and betrayals lingered between them. 

He thought of her wish to speak, to be heard and to listen, to resolve these matters and let everyone find peace-- or at least to try. 

He thought of all this, and he was grateful. 

~oOo~

On Thursday, Loki sat at a table in the tea room, hands clasped before him, waiting. There was no cup or plate before him-- Catherine had offered him tea, but he knew he would not be able to drink it. 

He had been very surprised to have a role to play at all. Catherine had explained that Annie's mother had asked for him to be present when they met with her. 

"But why?" he had asked, bewildered.

"Because they've met you, and they haven't me. And you were Annie's friend, the only one they know of in Bristol. They know she was alone here, but I don't think they can face exactly how alone. Not yet. So they'd like to have you here when we meet, and to come to the house with us to meet the new occupants. If you're willing."

"Of course. But not to stay for the, the séance," Loki clarified. 

"No," Catherine admitted. "I don't think... they'd be able to offer you quite that much."

"It is understandable," Loki said quickly. "And I did not mean to ask for... I only wished to know the limits of my role." Annie squeezed his hand-- and then, with a startled look, said, 

"Catherine, will they be allowed to touch you? My parents?"

Catherine looked so bewildered that a limit to-- or at any rate a difference in-- her magic was immediately apparent. "We generally hold hands during a séance. Why wouldn’t I let them touch me?"

"Because," Annie explained, "when humans touch Loki, they can see and hear me. It's how I talk to the Avengers."

"Really? Just by _touching_ him?" Catherine asked. 

"Yes," Annie said. "We assumed it would be the same for any sorcerer, but we've never had anyone to test the idea with."

Catherine looked interested. "Hmm. I admit, that's a power I haven't heard of before, and I've never experienced anything like it. Still, there are all kinds of magic. Unless you're an unusual ghost," she added thoughtfully. 

Annie blinked. "I don't think that's likely," she objected. 

"I think perhaps you should be cautious," Loki spoke up quickly. 

Catherine nodded. "I think that's good advice," she said. "I'll come up with some sort of ritual to replace hand-holding, at least with me. In that case, Annie, you had better stay hidden until you hear me saying goodbye to Loki. Oh, incidentally, Loki-- your name is Paul Harrison."

"I beg your pardon?" Loki asked politely. 

"You didn't tell them your name," Catherine explained. "And Mrs. Sawyer realized it, when she was speaking to me. It didn't make sense that Annie's friend wouldn't have told me his name either, so I made one up." With a wry little smile, she added, "I happened to be listening to _Rubber Soul_ when she called me." Loki nodded, rather pleased at recognizing the reference. "Paul Harrison," the medium repeated. "Write it down, if you have to."

Catherine had left shortly afterward, calling the next day to confirm times and everyone's part. Loki had gotten through work today, hurried home to see how Annie was, and then made his way to the tea room to meet the Sawyers with Catherine.

He glanced up as the bell over the door tinkled, took a deep breath, and stood. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer," he greeted the couple, walking toward them with his hand extended. Mrs. Sawyer ignored it, stepped forward and embraced him. 

Loki was startled, of course, but recognized the action as both a case of strong Midgardian emotions, and also of... substitution. She could not, after all, embrace the one she truly wished to. And it was not that Loki had not always appreciated the caresses of his friends for their own sake, but he certainly understood the impulse to seek such comfort as one could, when those for whom you yearned were forever out of reach. 

Or seemed so, anyway.

Loki wrapped his long arms around Mrs. Sawyer and let her hold him as long as she had a mind to. When she finally released him and stepped back, her cheeks were wet. The redness around her eyes suggested, however, that her tears had begun much earlier in the day. 

Loki fished in the left-hand pocket of his jacket, where he kept his store of clean tissues for the wiping of small noses at school, and offered a handful to Mrs. Sawyer with a mumbled word of condolence. He then turned to shake hands with Mr. Sawyer, and that was when he finally saw the young man and woman standing just behind him. 

The young woman looked so much like Annie that Loki felt the world tilt alarmingly for a moment-- and then the small differences between their features, and the fact she was some years older than Annie, became evident. 

Mrs. Sawyer was holding Loki's hand in a way that suggested he really should not go near the house at all-- that she might not let him go. She gestured toward the young couple and said, in a clogged voice, "Paul, this is our daughter Becky. Annie's older sister. And her husband-- "

"Robin," Loki heard himself blurt. "Who works at the Post Office."

The young man, almost the same height as his wife but twice as broad, smiled slightly. "I've actually left there, I'm in computer systems now. Annie would laugh, she always thought the Post Office was the dullest job imaginable and now I'm even more boring."

Becky, the sister, spoke up: "She talked about us?"

"A little," Loki said. "I did not... know her long. But she missed you all, and sometimes would speak of you." He remembered something, and in case Annie did not think to ask, he offered a smile and said: "She was very interested in whether she might... become an aunt, someday." 

"Oh," Becky said, tears welling. "Oh. Well, not yet." Her husband put his arm around her. Loki, sorry he had spoken, very much wished for more tissues. 

Catherine looked around at the group with an expression of disinterested compassion. Loki could not imagine how she managed it; he felt nearly overwhelmed by the pain in the air around him. He wondered how much of it was his fault, for being there when the Sawyers came to the cemetery, for stirring up their grief again with his well-meaning lies. For bringing things to the surface that Annie had been happier not remembering. 

Catherine's voice cut across his unproductive thoughts: "We'll have to take two cars. Paul, you'll come with me. Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, will you travel with your daughter?" 

"Yes," Mr. Sawyer said, and Loki was relieved at the choice. He and Catherine would have a chance for a final talk, and Becky would not feel... passed over. He wondered if she had ever felt her parents gave more attention to the dead daughter than the live one. Or were the Sawyers wiser than that? Of course, she had a husband of her own, which must make some difference. 

The journey to the pink house was not a very great distance, was soon covered. Catherine parked her car behind Mitchell's, and she and Loki got out to wait for the Sawyers to cross the street toward them. 

Then they all approached the shabby front door, and Catherine reached up to knock. 

~oOo~

"They're here," Mitchell said, from his station peering out the front windows. "Annie, there's someone with your parents, a young couple."

Annie rushed forward to look out, in spite of George's anguished protests. "That's my sister! That's Becky and her husband, Robin." She let Mitchell pull her away from the window, and George usher her into the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting my sister to come," she said. 

"Of course she came. Remember, stay here until you hear Catherine tell Loki goodbye. In fact, you should probably count to fifty after that, just in case," George instructed. He was pale and anxious, and any other time Annie would have teased him. 

Not now. Instead, she sat down on a kitchen chair and folded her hands in her lap. Across the room, beside the stove, Scamp lay in the basket George had retrieved for her, watching Annie with devoted, worried eyes. 

George went back out through the lounge to the entryway, where Mitchell was hovering by the door. "Okay," he said out loud, "we just have to stay calm. Just... stay calm." At Mitchell's raised eyebrow, George tried to pretend his breath wasn't coming short and insisted, on a high note, "We're two guys sharing a house. It's perfectly normal. All we have to do is... act _normal."_

"Yeah, good luck with that," Mitchell replied, as the expected knock sounded. Mitchell plastered a convincing smile on his face and pulled the door open. "Hello, welcome. Are you Catherine Bennett?"

"Yes," Catherine said calmly, as she led her little group inside. Loki hung back on the steps, ushering Annie's family before him, and then stood just inside the doorway as introductions were made. "Thank you so much for allowing us to make this experiment," the medium said to Mitchell and George. 

"Glad to," Mitchell replied warmly. George let out a strangled little noise and Mitchell put a hand on his shoulder. "Myself and George thought we'd go down to the pub for a bit, just at the end of the terrace. Maybe you could look in when you've... finished, Catherine. The door'll lock behind you. And-- we have kittens, they're shut in a bedroom so they won't slip outside past you. If you hear any funny thumps upstairs, it's only them." Tugging George along with him, Mitchell began to edge toward the door, pausing only to address the Sawyers: "We're terribly sorry about your daughter. I'm sure she was a wonderful person."

"Thank you. She was," Mrs. Sawyer replied, and then looked at Loki. "Paul, are you staying?"

Loki shook his head, a little surprised to be addressed. "No, it would not be appropriate. This is for your family." Annie's sister, oddly, looked as though she was unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Loki wondered whether the stranger, in addition to being an intrusion, might also be a welcome distraction. He addressed Annie's mother. "It was good to have met you, and I hope... I hope you find what you need. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Paul," Mrs. Sawyer said, in a tone that recognized the finality of the word. Loki nodded to the rest of the family, and to Catherine's word of farewell. Then he slipped out the door and closed it firmly behind him. 

Alone in the kitchen, Annie heard Catherine's voice, and then the door. She closed her eyes and, as quickly as she could, counted to fifty. 

Then, her little ghost dog at her heels, she sidled through the beaded curtain into the lounge. Her parents sat on the sofa, her sister and brother-in-law on the little daybed across from them, and Catherine in the armchair facing toward the entryway, at the head of the proceedings. 

Nobody saw her. Annie still moved very carefully, edged over to Catherine and sat on the arm of her chair. Scamp settled on the floor beneath her feet. Catherine reached into her purse, brought out a candle in a jar and a book of matches. Then, in a calmly authoritative voice, she began to speak. 

"Now. Before we begin, I should tell you what to expect. Have any of you ever participated in a séance before?" Four headshakes. "Very well. You may have seen depictions of mediums entering trance states, perhaps speaking with the voices of the spirits with whom they communicate. That is a perfectly valid form of communication, but it is not what I do. I will remain fully conscious and aware throughout the session, and will speak in my normal voice. If Annie chooses to join us, I will relay anything she says, and I will tell you when she leaves us."

Catherine cleared a space on the coffee table, set down the candle, and lit it. "This candle will serve as a focal point during the session. I'll ask you to direct your gaze toward it-- if your eyes begin to hurt, I recommend you close them, rather than look around the room. It's possible that I may receive a vague visual impression of Annie, and if that happens I may look toward her. I'll warn you in advance that you will not be able to see her, and if your attention begins to wander it may affect my ability to communicate with her. I understand how much you must wish to see her again, but I'm afraid I'm unable to offer that. I am only able to relay the words of spirits. All right?"

"All right," Mr. Sawyer said, after a momentary hesitation. No one else spoke. Catherine reached up to extinguish the lamp that leaned over her chair, and said,

"All right. Now, you may find it comforting to hold hands during this process. I will not, but if you wish, please do." Becky and her husband clasped hands at once. After a moment, their parents followed suit. "Good. Now, I'll ask you all to please think about Annie. Concentrate on her, remember her. Any strong memories you have of her. All of you, think of Annie."

"There's a first," Annie heard herself say suddenly, and flinched at the sound of her own bitter words. Catherine gave no sign of hearing, but she said, 

"If you wish, you may speak of those memories. If Annie chooses to join us, she will make herself known to me and I will relay it to you. Annie, if you can hear us, please let me know when you wish to join us."

"I think I'd like to listen for a bit first, if you don't mind," Annie replied, pulling up her knees and hugging them as she balanced on the arm of the chair.

"She was such a beautiful baby," Mrs. Sawyer spoke up after a moment. "You should have seen her, those big dark eyes. Becky's eyes stayed blue for quite a while, but Annie's turned dark almost right away. She'd look at you like she understood everything, from the time she was tiny.

"And she was so good. Becky was fussy, strong-willed-- we always knew when she wanted something-- but Annie always seemed to be content. I was so grateful-- Becky was three and she was into everything, and I was worn out all the time chasing her."

"They were so different," Mr. Sawyer agreed. "Becky, you were always in the middle of everything, asking questions and exploring, and Annie would be off in her room, playing with her dolls like a little mum."

"Becky would always take the lead," said their mother.

"And this is pretty much what I expected _everyone think of Annie_ to turn into," Annie remarked, chin on her knees. _"Everyone think of how much better Becky is."_

As she spoke, the bookcase by the door rattled, its contents shivering. Catherine, who had been warned of this possibility, raised a hand and the commotion stopped. Annie folded up even more, pressing her forehead into her pulled-up knees. Her family stared, wide-eyed, at the bookcase. 

Catherine, as though nothing had happened, said pleasantly, "It sounds as if the girls had rather clear roles." 

"I... suppose they did," said Mrs. Sawyer.

"We did," agreed Annie. "Becky's role was to be the important one. Don't tell them I said that." 

"Becky, you were the leader?" Catherine asked the question directly. Becky clutched Robin's hand.

"I suppose. I mean, I was the oldest, I-- " She fell silent, chewing her lip in a gesture Loki might have recognized as like her sister, and then looked at the floor. 

"She was never afraid to speak up for herself, Becky," her father said. "Like her granddad that way. I didn't thank him for passing on that trait, not when she got to her teens and answered back and questioned everything we said. Not defiant, just... strong-willed."

"Don't mind me," Annie said, into her knees. "Just pretend I'm not here."

"And what was Annie like?" Catherine asked. Becky continued to stare at the floor, shoulders hunched. Her parents looked startled.

"We've just been telling you," Mrs. Sawyer said. 

"Actually," Catherine said, "you were mostly telling me about Becky. What was Annie like?"

"Insignificant," Annie said, to her knees. Scamp got up, whining anxiously, and stood on her hind legs with her forepaws braced on the side of the chair. Annie finally unfolded, looking at the dog, and reached down to rub her head.

"Annie is here," Catherine said calmly, ignoring the accusing look the ghost sent her way. "And she's feeling rather... overlooked. As though she doesn't matter to you very much."

"Of course she matters to us," Mrs. Sawyer protested. "We're _here._ "

"Yes, you are," Catherine agreed. "And I know that means you love her and miss her. But you're speaking mostly of her sister, and she's noticed. Everyone, please think of Annie."

"I used to start arguments at home, and Annie would try to calm everyone down," Becky spoke up, without taking her eyes off the floor. "Like it... _hurt her_... to see us quarreling. I didn't mean anything by it, I just... so many people, so many _girls_ , they just say _yes sir, no sir, three bags full,_ and I didn't want to be like that. So if I had something to say, I said it. And I always knew Annie would smooth things over, run around doing things for Mum and Dad afterward, trying to make them happy and everything calm again."

"Annie was the peacemaker," Catherine prompted. 

"I told her once she was _Neville Chamberlain,"_ Becky replied, finally looking up. "The minute we got angry, she'd give in on anything. All any of us had to do was get cross, or go silent, and she'd do anything for us. Like she thought if she made us angry we wouldn't love her."

"Becky, you know that isn't true," Mr. Sawyer protested. 

_"I_ know it isn't true," Becky retorted, wiping her eyes with the hand that wasn't holding Robin's. "What I'm saying is, I don't think _Annie_ knew it wasn't. And I know I used it against her when it suited me, at least when we were kids. I never thought I was being cruel, I just... never thought." She looked at Catherine. "Is Annie still here?"

"Yes," Catherine replied, without looking at Annie. 

"Annie, I'm sorry," Becky blurted. "I should have stood up for you. I should have encouraged you to speak up, too, and backed you so you could. I was your big sister, and I should have... I just... I suppose I was a bit jealous."

Annie's expression spoke for her. Catherine said gently, "Annie doesn't understand why you'd be jealous of her."

"I was jealous because she was _sweet,_ and _pretty,_ and _good,"_ Becky burst out. 

"I _had_ to be good," Annie protested. "It was the only thing _left._ Becky was the, the important one, the interesting one, she was strong and smart and sure of herself. I couldn't win against _that._ So I thought, if I was really good, I'd _deserve_ \-- "

"Annie felt that being good was a way to be loved, too," Catherine condensed the speech. "She hoped that by being different from her older sister, she wouldn't be competing with her."

"It wasn't a competition," Mrs. Sawyer said faintly. "We loved her. She must have known we would love her no matter what-- "

 _"No matter what?"_ Annie shrieked. Catherine raised her hands again as every ornament in the room trembled, and the bead curtain in the kitchen door shook. "I was _good._ I did _everything_ you expected of me, all my _life._ I was so busy trying to work out what _you_ wanted from me that I never figured out what _I_ wanted. And I could never-- I never guessed _right._ I never did _enough."_ She pressed her hands to her mouth and fell silent.

"Annie hoped that being good, that never causing trouble, would make you love her, too," Catherine said calmly. "And she feels that it didn't work, that she didn't give you what you wanted from her, so in turn you didn't give her what she needed from you." 

"I couldn't live up to her," Becky said suddenly. "I felt sometimes like I was always in trouble, that everyone wished I could be more like Annie. Of course everyone loved you, Annie," she said to the room at large. "There was nothing not to love. I used to feel like... I'd compare myself to you. And I never measured up, not to Saint Annie. 

"So I was... in a way I was almost glad, when you started dating and you kept going out with... "

"With boys who didn't deserve her," Mr. Sawyer broke his silence to say. 

"Yes," Mrs. Sawyer agreed. "It worried us, but we thought, at first... Annie was so sensible. She'd figure it out for herself." 

"I knew I should talk to her about it," Becky said tearfully. "I was her big sister, it felt like my _job._ But... it was almost a relief, for her not to be so perfect after all. I never thought she'd really get hurt-- I mean, I knew her feelings were hurt, but not... I never dreamed... "

"She fell for that little spiv, Owen, and you could smell a mile off he was a wrong'un," Robin spoke up, with sudden violence. "I wanted to send the smarmy little bastard off with a flea in his ear, but I didn't think it was my place. I wish I had done it. I'm so sorry I didn't."

"We wondered why she didn't realize she deserved better," Mr. Sawyer said quietly, "but when I tried to talk to her about it she... just wouldn't answer."

"Doing what you wanted didn't work," Annie said, equally quietly. "Becky had you both, and there was nothing for me. I loved you so much, but it wasn't any use. I wanted someone to love _me._ So I thought... If I _earned_ it, if I... rescued..." She buried her face in her hands.

"She felt there wasn't anything left over for her, so she had to go elsewhere to get what she needed," Catherine said. "She thought that if she helped these boys, she would deserve their love. Would earn it."

"She didn't have to _earn_ anything," Mrs. Sawyer protested. "We loved her. We _still_ love her. There was _no one_ in the _world_ more deserving of love than her." She looked around, and her eyes fell, perhaps by accident, on exactly the place where her daughter sat. "Annie, please listen to me. Your father and I, we have always loved you. Before you were born, from the moment we set eyes on you, and right this minute. I don't know why we didn't do a better job of showing it, of letting you know, but we never realized how you felt. 

"I suppose we assumed too much and looked too little. There was always something to worry about-- not Becky, don't think that-- but just... work, and looking after the house and you girls, and finding a way to keep up with bills and things, and worrying about the future, yours and ours and... I suppose we had enough problems calling themselves to our attention that we didn't seek any others out. We really thought you were all right, up until you started dating those... and by then it was too late, we hadn't tried to talk to you before, so you wouldn't listen to us then. I got more and more anxious, and you had never worried us before, not for a minute, and I couldn't understand why you were doing it now, and..."

"I _wanted_ you to worry," Annie sobbed, with a look on her face that suggested perhaps she had just realized it. "I wanted you to _pay attention._ And you _didn't,_ it was as if, you tried once and it didn't work and you just gave up, you didn't care enough to keep trying. Owen kept trying, he'd hurt me, yes, but then he'd act like he was sorry, and want me to love him again. He didn't just _quit."_

"Annie believed you gave up on her," Catherine relayed, her tone even. "That when she stopped being what you wanted, and she tried to make you... prove you loved her, she wasn't worth the effort after all."

"Yes," Annie said. "That's it. That's exactly it."

"And Owen acted like he wanted her-- even though he hurt her, he'd work to win her back. It seems that she didn't realize he was manipulating her, testing to see how much she would put up with, gradually teaching her to let him get away with more and more."

"No," Annie said. "No, I didn't see that. Not until it was much too late. Not until I was dead." 

Annie's parents were both shaking their heads, both crying. 

"We never meant for you to think that," her father pleaded. 

"Oh, Dad, I know," Annie sobbed. 

"She knows that, now," Catherine said. 

"But she didn't know when she needed to," Mr. Sawyer argued. "We didn't see, didn't try hard enough. And we _left her_ with Owen, and he-- "

Annie wiped her eyes with the cuff of her grey sweater. "Catherine, you've got to lie to them. Tell them it was an accident. I just fell. He never pushed me." The medium was silent. _"Catherine."_

"Annie wants you to find comfort," Catherine said quietly. 

"You're not going to tell them?" Annie asked incredulously. 

"She knows you love her. She understands that now."

"I do, that. That part. And I didn't mean to hurt them so much. I didn't want to do that, I just wanted to know they really-- "

"She never wanted you to be hurt by this conversation. She just needed to hear you say you love her."

"We do," her mother wept. "Always. So much. We should have said it more."

"I should have, too," Annie admitted. "I wanted things from them, but I don't know if I really _gave_ them anything. Everything I did was just to _make_ them-- " 

"She loves you, too, and wishes she had said it more often. Had expressed it better, instead of only thinking about what she needed."

"She was a _little girl_ when she needed it," Mr. Sawyer said fiercely. "I don't know how she'd have known to behave differently, when we didn't either." 

"I thought we'd have time," Mrs. Sawyer sobbed. "I was thirty, I had children, before I could really talk to my mother. I dreamed about it, that she'd realize Owen was no good, that she'd come back and we would have a chance to really talk to each other. I thought we had time, and we didn't."

"That's not your fault," Annie said, hugging herself. 

"She understands. She doesn't blame you anymore. You all tried to do the best you could," Catherine said. 

"It just wasn't good enough," Mrs. Sawyer pointed out. 

"But it was the best you had. And I hid things, so you didn't know," Annie admitted. "I didn't want you to know I was unhappy, because I thought it was ungrateful, would make you angry-- don't tell them that part. I pretended, and then I blamed you for believing me."

"Annie didn't know how to make things different, so she hid her feelings," Catherine summarized. "And she understands now, that it's not fair to blame you for not knowing what she was hiding."

"She can blame us for knowing she was sensitive but acting like we believed nothing ever bothered her," her mother replied. "Not when she was scurrying around acting like the world was ending every time someone raised their voice. Oh Annie, I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Mum," Annie sobbed. "I wish I had been more honest. That I realized I could trust you."

"I wish we could have made her feel she could trust us," he father said. "We'd have done _anything_ for her, if only we knew what it was. I'm so sorry we didn't try harder to figure it out."

"I'm sorry I didn't ask, instead of just _wishing,"_ Annie said. 

"Annie knows now, that you wanted the best for her. That you would have helped her, if she had been able to ask. She would have," Catherine added a sudden editorial aside. "If she had had more time, she would have learned to ask, to make herself clearer, so you could understand each other. She never wanted you to feel like this."

"That's true," Annie sniffled. 

"Well, we never wanted her to feel the way she did, either, that she had to _perform_ for us. Is she lonely?" Mrs. Sawyer asked suddenly. 

Annie shook her head, and so did Catherine, saying, "No. She is not alone. There are... ways, in the afterlife, of gaining the things you need."

"The house agent sends them," Annie giggled, a little hysterically. "Or they bounce off the roof and fall into your dustbins."

"You're sure?" Annie's father asked. 

"Yes," Catherine replied. "You don't need to worry about that. She's not alone, and she isn't lonely." She looked around at the family, taking Annie in out of the corner of her eye. All of them looked exhausted. "I think we've done what we needed to, today."

"No," Annie protested. "I'm not ready. I don't want to... " She pressed her hands to her mouth, hard. When she lowered her hands, her eyes were resigned. "I love them. All of them. Please tell them."

"Annie doesn't want to say goodbye, but it's time. She loves you and misses you."

"Yes. That, too."

"And we love her," her mother said. "We always have. We'll see each other again someday."

"But not for a long time!" Annie protested. 

"When it is your time, Annie will be waiting for you," Catherine assured the family. Annie got up from the arm of the chair, walked around to lean down and kiss each of them on the forehead or cheek. Her father started a little, looking around and reaching up to touch the spot her lips had touched. Catherine said softly, "Goodbye, Annie." 

Then she reached up to switch on the lamp, and leaned forward to blow out the candle.

~oOo~

Annie was curled up on the sofa, Scamp and the kittens beside her, when there was a tap at the front door. Before she could call out, Catherine opened it and came in. 

"I didn't pull it all the way to, when I went to see your family off," she explained. "I thought you might prefer not to be alone right now."

Annie gave her a tearful smile. "Good guess."

Catherine walked over to sit on the other end of the sofa. "We could go down to the pub and tell the boys they can come home."

"Yes," Annie agreed. "Or... I could make us some tea, and we could go find them in a little while."

"Certainly. Whatever you need," Catherine said quietly.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** Loki goes to Asgard, for some family time of his own. 
> 
> Also, a video of someone hand-feeding chickadees. Imagine how much Loki loved them! http://youtu.be/aYCn2ZG8_jY
> 
>  **Warnings:** None needed.

Loki closed the door behind himself, stepped onto the pavement, and stood for a moment with his shoulders hunched, thinking about what to do next.

"Psst! Loki!" 

The call-- which, really, sounded very much like the incantation uttered by humans attempting to drive cats from their flower beds-- seemed to be uttered by Mitchell's car. Loki frowned at it, momentarily puzzled, but before he could think anything very silly Mitchell popped up over the bonnet and waved at him. George yanked him back down out of sight, and Loki went along to see what his friends were up to. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, one eyebrow raised inquiringly, as he peered around the car. 

"Waiting for you," Mitchell explained. 

"We didn't want anyone to see us," George added. 

Loki frowned at him. "You do realize that everyone on the _other_ side of the street can see you perfectly well?" George looked flabbergasted, but the way Mitchell clamped both hands over his mouth, snorting with mirth, made it rather clear he had already grasped the point and had been patiently waiting for George to tumble to it. 

"Well. Um," George muttered, with affronted dignity, as he got to his feet. Loki forbore from teasing, simply held out a hand in an offer of assistance and pulled him upright. George explained, "We were mostly thinking about Annie's family, anyway."

All amusement vanished as Loki glanced back at the house. "I feel sure they are not concerned with whether any of us are hanging about in the street."

Mitchell, by now leaning on the car, smiled kindly. "Well, we really are going down the pub for a bit. Come with us?"

Loki managed to smile back. "May I meet you there later? I would like to pay a visit to-- " _my parents--_ "Asgard," he compromised, still unwilling to flaunt relationships the other two no longer possessed. 

Mitchell nodded as he and George started down the street to the pub on the corner. "Give them our love, yeah?" he called cheerfully.

"I will," Loki agreed sheepishly, and began to walk in the other direction. As he gathered a glamour about himself to fade into the darkness of the street, he also remembered his manners. "Heimdall," he called softly, "I wish to speak to the Queen, and so am paying a visit to the palace." 

As he reached the corner of the street, he also reached out for Yggdrasil.

~oOo~ 

The queen's garden was quiet at this time of night, and there was no one to see Loki appear from between worlds. He stepped onto the soft grass, among flowering bushes that smelled sweetly. At this time of year in England, all flowers slept their winter sleep, but here in Asgard they bloomed yet. Loki enjoyed England's changing seasons: by the time one was really tired of one, it always seemed time for the next, and he thought he was fonder of flowers when he had had time to miss them.

Still, it was good to stand here for a moment, amid the scents of his mother's garden, while he gathered his courage to approach the palace. 

This time, he did not glamour himself against the sight of the guards. He had every right to be here, to be in the living quarters of the palace. He was a prince of Asgard, the Allfather had said so, and if he wished to see his mother, it was his right to ask her for an audience. 

It was not, of course, his right to simply walk into the queen's private quarters, but that was the courtesy owed by a son to his mother, and would be the same on any realm, among people of any rank. 

The guards he encountered did not even look surprised at the sight of him, only nodded briefly and murmured, "my lord," in acknowledgement. Loki responded in kind, without inappropriate familiarity-- such a display would probably embarrass the guards, and anyway he owed it to Father to maintain at least some of the dignity of the royal family as long as he was in Asgard-- but certainly with the respect owed in turn to these loyal defenders of the realm. Apparently the palace staff had adjusted to these appearances and disappearances of the younger prince, and saw no threat in them. Perhaps at some point Loki would stop being relieved by this realization, but not today. 

He stopped at the mouth of the corridor leading to the queen's chambers, and asked one of the guards posted there to take a message for him. The man was gone a short time, and returned with word the queen would be pleased to see her son immediately. 

Loki smiled his thanks to the guard, and hoped his expression did not give away his sudden misgiving. He would not have been entirely disappointed to hear the queen had already retired for the night and was not to be disturbed. 

Well, no time for anxiety. Hulda ushered him into the outer sitting room and left him waiting. 

A moment later, his mother appeared, and she was not alone. Loki's heart jerked within his breast: it had not occurred to him that his father might be here also. Bad enough to speak to his mother of the matter than lay on his heart, and he had always been much less afraid of her. He had not admitted it to himself, but he would have much preferred to say what he had to say to his mother, and then let her relay it to his father. 

And then he was deeply ashamed of himself, although he had not time to think very hard about that before he was being embraced by his mother. As she did so, his father also laid an affectionate hand on the back of his head. 

Finally, Frigga stepped back, still holding his hands, and asked, "What brings you to us tonight?" 

And, well, there seemed little point in delaying. Loki took a breath and blurted, 

"Over the past weeks, I have spent a little time with my friend Annie's parents-- I have helped her arrange to speak to them tonight, through a woman who is able to communicate with the dead." There was a faint, puzzled line between his mother's eyebrows, and Loki went on, "Every time I encounter them, I am made aware of how much it hurt them to lose her, how her loss still pains them. I do not think they will ever recover from it."

"Well, no," Frigga replied quietly. "Of course they will not."

"I did not think of that," Loki nearly whispered. "When I... when I let go. I wanted to die, but I did not... I did not think to hurt you. Really. Nearly everything I did then was motivated by madness, or spite, or both, but I did not deliberately seek to-- " _punish you--_ "hurt you by my death. All I wanted was... for it all to _stop_. I never considered... I... I understand a little better, now, how it must have felt for you to believe me dead. I would not have done that to you on purpose. Truly, I would not have." 

There was more he could have said, but all of it would have been justifications or excuses he did not deserve to offer, and would only have made matters worse. Besides, his throat had closed, and attempting further speech would only lead to tears. He had not come here for comfort, at least not primarily. This apology was long owed, and the fact he had not until now realized he owed it was reason for further apologies, when he could speak them. 

"Oh, my dear," Frigga murmured, and to his unutterable relief she embraced him again. He closed his eyes, knowing that was further cowardice, was hiding. He would have to face this, but it could be put off a little longer and he had not the courage to hurry. 

And then his mother's soft voice in his ear said gently, "We knew you had no wish to hurt us in that way, that you would not deliberately cause us to suffer so. And _that_ was what hurt, knowing you _believed_ it would not, that you thought your life mattered so little to us. That was... I cannot tell you how much that knowledge pained your father and me."

Loki released his mother, nodding mutely. And there was the heart of every excuse he could have offered: _I did not think to hurt you, because I did not believe you would care._ In fact, it was one of the reasons for his effort to end himself: the belief that, if they felt anything about it at all, his death would be a relief to his keepers. It had seemed the best thing for everyone, a way to release everyone from the pain and trouble of his continued existence.

And if there was anything worse he could say to people who had always loved him above nearly everything else, Loki could not think of it. Well, of course, it was also cruelty to tell them _I never realized you loved me,_ but since he had already admitted as much, there was little point in worrying about that now. 

His father stepped closer, laid a hand on his head once again, and for no reason Loki suddenly felt it as a cradling gesture, as one does when holding an infant too young to support its own head. It was a gesture of tenderness and protection, perhaps the action of a man taking up an abandoned baby out of an uncomplicated desire to protect it. 

There was no accusation in Odin's voice as he said, "We know now that was not a new belief, and I should have suspected something long before then." Loki swallowed hard, and his father went on, "I would ask the librarian, sometimes, what sort of books you favoured. When he said you liked to read of faraway realms, I assumed you were gathering knowledge against the day you would be called upon to advise your brother. It was, of course, stupid on my part, to imagine that a child would think in such a way. I should have asked you what pleasure you took in such books, why they held your interest." Odin smiled faintly. "I have no doubt you would have lied, but I might have at least realized there was cause for concern." Loki felt a flush climb his throat, and his father went on gently, 

"You told Thor, not long ago, that while you read those books you imagined a place where you would be wanted, and would belong. When he told me of that, it occurred to me that he did not add anything about you imagining us missing you, or coming to look for you. Was that ever part of the stories you told yourself?"

"Yes," Loki whispered. At his father's steady look, he dropped his eyes and amended, "At first." He did not remember when his fictions had ceased to focus on how his mother and father and brother would seek him out, would express joy and relief to see him again, but by the time the fantasies had worn out, and the brief comfort they offered with them, it had been years since he had even considered the idea. The fantasies then had always had the same shape: Loki would find somewhere to belong, and he would go there and be happy, and Asgard would never enter his mind. 

He supposed he thought the realm would go along as it ever had, unconcerned by his absence. Perhaps, for a little while, he had tormented himself with mental pictures of his family getting along perfectly well without him, but before long those had lost their sting, had been accepted as reality, and so he had let them alone. Instead, he had concentrated on trying to imagine the things he wanted for himself, tried to believe in them, and leave aside what could never be altered. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, and this time Odin embraced him, wordlessly. Speaking into his father's shoulder, Loki repeated, "I am sorry I hurt you so by that action, and sorry I did not realize how _much_ it would hurt you. And I am especially sorry it took me so long to recognize the need for this apology." His father cradled his head again, briefly, and then released him. 

Loki stepped back, shifting uneasily. In addition to feeling rather inclined to cry, Loki found himself embarrassed. And he was still worried about Annie, wondering whether she was even now still talking to her family, how their conversation had gone, how she was feeling. At the same time, even Loki knew it would be impossibly selfish for him to broach such a subject and then simply run away. 

His mother was eying him cautiously, as though flight was to her a distinct possibility. Loki made himself take a careful breath and let it out, force his shoulders down and stand flat-footed as his mother took his hand. Annie was surely settling in for a long session with her family, and he would not be needed for some time yet. The very least he could do was stay here long enough to have a proper conversation with his mother and father. 

He opened his mouth to say something innocuous, reassuring. 

Instead, what came out was, "Was there another baby?"

"What?" his mother asked, blankly, but her fingers tightened coldly around his. Loki could feel heat rush through his body, but he clarified, 

"Thor has said... he has told me that he remembers, before I was, before I became part of our family... he remembers... your appearance. As one who is with child." It crossed his mind that it was ridiculous for him to be so embarrassed at broaching this subject with his parents. On the other hand, since Tyr as weapons trainer had been given the responsibility for instruction and explanations about all matters related to becoming men, it was not as if he had ever attempted to speak of anything like this with them before. 

Embarrassment would have silenced him now, except for the expressions on his parents' faces. His father looked startled and guilty, while his mother... his mother wore an expression of remembered pain. 

And both of them were visibly thinking as fast as they could, each looking sideways at the other as though they wanted to ask him for a moment of privacy, so they could decide together what story they were going to tell him.

"The truth," Loki heard himself say, the embarrassed flush receding, to be replaced by... something else. "Please-- " _You owe me this much--_ "tell me the truth. Thor believes he created the memory. Is it a real one after all?"

For a moment, in spite of everything that had happened between them, Loki really thought his parents were going to fall back into denials and lies. He could actually see the decision being made as he looked from his mother to his father and back. 

And then, abruptly, Frigga nodded, obviously distressed. She gestured at a chair and Loki sat, his stomach twisting in anxiety as he realized he had bullied his mother into admitting something she would otherwise never have told him. He started to take it back, to apologize for asking, for upsetting her, but his mother raised a hand and he closed his mouth, clasping his hands before him. His father brought two chairs close to his, and his parents also sat.

In spite of his instinctive fear, when his mother spoke her voice was not angry. "Yes. It was a real memory," she said quietly. "I confess, I am surprised he would remember anything about it. He was very small, hardly speaking in sentences yet. But he is correct: there was another baby." 

It was wrong for Loki to hear this and not Thor. They should both be here, should both hear the story. Loki did not even know whether his brother was in Asgard at the moment, and he would have asked her to stop, to wait-- except that he had asked, and had no right to make further demands around a subject so obviously painful. 

Instead of speaking, Loki tightened his hands around each other, and his mother said quietly, 

"It was near the end of the war. The Jotnar had been driven from Midgard, and the Aesir troops were moving to pin them on Jotunheim, so they could not launch any further aggression against other realms. Your father had scarcely been in Asgard since I told him I was sure about the baby. There was no reason for him to concern himself, birth is a matter among women-- mothers and midwives and healers. Everything was going well. I had tried to tell Thor he would soon have a baby brother or sister, but he was too young to be very interested. At his age he would not have known what _brother_ meant, until there was a baby for him to call by that name." She paused, gazing straight ahead at nothing. 

At the past. Loki had seen that look before, and he wondered what was there, what his mother retreated to. 

"Everything was going well," she repeated. "I sent your father letters, when a messenger was available, so he would know what he had to come home to when the fighting was over."

She stopped again, and Loki finally prompted, as gently as he could, "What happened?"

Frigga blinked, jerked her head as if trying to dislodge a painful memory. "When he was born... the cord that connects the child to the mother, it was out of position. Instead of the baby coming first, the cord did. And this caused it to be... to be compressed, so all the tasks the cord does for an unborn baby were stopped. I had never heard of such a thing. I did not know it could happen. He was a fine big child, and by the time... The midwife sent for Eir, but it was too late, by the time he was born. He never drew breath."

Loki wanted to take her hand again, but it seemed wrong. After a moment, to his relief, his father reached out and did so.

Frigga's eyes were dry-- she must long ago have shed all her tears for this child -- as she went on, "My attendants spoke of it to no one, of course, not with the king absent-- it was his right as father to know before any, what had become of his second heir. He had already sent word that he expected to return very soon, and in fact he came back within days.

"And... when he came, he brought you." She looked directly at Loki, focused on him. "It was late when he arrived in my chambers, having come straight to me. My ladies had gone to bed, I was asleep. His head was all bandaged, but before I could ask about his injury he pushed his cloak aside and, and set you before me." 

Loki found himself holding his breath. His mother's frozen face softened, her eyes going somewhere else again. "You were asleep-- you must have been exhausted with crying and hunger and thirst. And when you could not see your father, your magic must have forgotten to make you look like him, look Aesir. You were all blue. You were... " She fell silent, and Loki wondered what a baby looks like, who dies without ever breathing. Was that other baby blue, also?

His mother went on, her voice faraway and reflective: "You woke, when your father set you upon the counterpane, opened your crimson eyes and let out the saddest little wail, as though you had been miserable for so long you no longer hoped for anyone to help you. I picked you up and held you to my shoulder-- " Apparently unconsciously, Frigga mimed the gesture, as though holding an invisible baby, one hand cupping its tiny head. "You huddled against me as if comforted, and when I looked down you were all pink, with one little fist pressed into your mouth. It was as if I had dreamed the blue, dreamed everything, the loss and heartbreak and... failure. I still had milk, and you were just strong enough to take it. Your father asked if I would have you-- " she laughed a little, shaking her head in dreamy disbelief-- "there was no question. I could no more have refused you than I could have given Thor away to tinkers. From the moment I saw you..." She pressed her free hand to her mouth for a moment, before going on, "The next day we engaged a wet nurse, and your father... laid a few charms on the memories of my household. We found a good nursery maid to look after you, ensure you were well-cared for and… safe, you and Thor both. And he learned a brother was someone to love." 

Loki realized he was still holding his breath, exhaled quietly. _You took me for a purpose,_ he had said to his father, that night in the weapons vault. _What was it?_ He wondered why his father had been unable to confess to this, to stealing a baby-- not even stealing, not when it had been discarded-- to comfort his grieving wife. That was not so bad, surely. It could not be uncommon, to try to replace a lost child with another. Surely that happened all the time, although admittedly not in quite this way. 

_And what if that other baby had not died?_

Loki tried not to hear the voice asking that question. It was not the mad voice, the dangerous one. It was only the voice that had always told him his brother was right to prefer other playmates, his parents wise to favour Thor, that none of his hopes and wishes and fantasies would ever come true because such things happened only to the deserving. The voice had gone quiet of late, but he recognized it. 

_Do not ask questions that have no answers._

_But what would have happened? What if that other child had lived?_

Father would still have saved him. Surely, even had he not found himself in need of a baby, he would have taken up the foundling, and… given him to someone. He would not have left him behind in the cold, or offered only the mercy of a swift death--

_Stop that!_

_But what would have happened\-- ?_

"Loki." It took him a moment to recognize his father's voice. He did not respond until the word was repeated, sharply. "Loki!" 

Loki blinked, his own mind coming back from far away, to see both his parents looking at him in what seemed to be alarm. A jolt of unreasoning panic coursed through his body. _Nonono, say something, do not let them see-- _

"I apologize," he began, trying to smooth out his voice. "I was only imagining-- " He smiled, the smile that had always fooled everyone into thinking all was well, the extra prince only distracted by inconsequential thoughts, nothing to be concerned about, no reason to bother. 

Odin leaned forward a little and spoke deliberately. "I did not know about your brother." 

Loki could not hide his confusion. "About Thor?" he asked stupidly. "What about him?"

Odin looked patient, the expression of a father helping his backward but beloved son to grasp concepts that were beyond him. "Not Thor. I did not know your brother had died. I thought... you would have been a twin. I supposed you to be a little older than the baby waiting to meet me in Asgard, but by the time you were both formally presented it would have been difficult to see a difference of two or three weeks at most. You would have seemed the more advanced, perhaps, but not enough to cause suspicion. I did not know your brother had died until... Your mother wept so, when she held you, I knew there was something wrong. But I had not, until then."

"Oh." Loki looked from one parent to the other. _Not needed, then. Only wanted._ His father looked understanding, while his mother was... bewildered. Loki suddenly felt desperate to prevent her from realizing what he had been thinking. He grasped at the first idea that came to mind, heard himself blurt, "But you said... what of your plans for, for peace? You said you discarded those later."

_Do you want to be disowned, idiot? _

Odin sighed. "You may recall, child, that I also told you I thought of the plans after I had already taken you. As it happens, I also thought of the plans after I realized you would not be a twin, and began to worry about what would happen if the memory charm ever failed."

Loki stared at him, thinking through the makeshift plans and hasty decisions and all the things that could have gone terribly wrong. 

And then he heard himself blurt, "Really, Father, that sounds like a plan _Thor_ would come up with." As soon as the words were out he was horrified-- of all times to choose to speak _candidly--_

Odin gave him a look that, perhaps ironically, briefly promised thunderbolts-- and then, to Loki's relief, his mother laughed, and his father reluctantly chuckled. The Allfather was not all-wise, but he had wisdom enough to be self-aware. And surely he understood that to be compared to Thor was not really an insult. 

"I admit," Odin said, "it was not one of my better-considered ideas. Still, you must recall I was rather weary at the time. And also, as I have said, I felt... obligated, perhaps, to at least consider..." Odin shook his head, as though to drive the idea away. "What I told you was, in every vital sense, the truth. I found you, and took you up, and from that time you have been my son." He glanced at Frigga. " _Our_ son. Nothing has ever changed that. I simply left out-- "

_Left out the part that Mother could not bear to think of._

He looked at Frigga, pale and not quite composed. She had spoken of the nursery attendant keeping them _safe,_ had spoken of _failure--_

This time Loki did lean out of his seat, reached for his mother's free hand, and held it tightly in both of his own as he smiled at her. "And I could not be more fortunate, than to be your son." He hesitated, then added awkwardly, "I am sorry about... our brother." 

Just for a moment, Loki let himself wonder how it would have been, if there had been three of them instead of two. He might have found himself ignored by two golden brothers instead of one. Or perhaps, maybe, the "twins" would have been together in all things, and allowed Thor to come and go, to be independent, without the desperate clinging that had nearly suffocated their relationship. 

Perhaps, if the third brother had lived, Mother would have been less distant. Less... _afraid._

He wondered, too, what their lost brother would have been _like._

"What was his name?" Loki asked suddenly. Frigga's fingers tightened on his.

"His... name?" she repeated, slowly. Odin suddenly looked as though he was about to make the _noise,_ and Loki avoided his eyes, trying not to cower. 

And then Frigga's eyes cleared, softened, as she looked at him with a smile. "Just between ourselves, he and I, I called him Kjartan." Out of the corner of his eye, Loki could see Odin look startled. He had perhaps never thought to ask, and so she had never told him. 

"Kjartan," Loki echoed, and was obscurely grateful his mother had not said _Balder._ "A good name. I am sure we would have loved each other." 

His mother leaned over, kissed his cheek, and now her eyes were wet. "I know you would have," she said quietly. " And I was thankful for you then, as I am even more thankful now." 

It was a little time before Loki trusted himself to speak. 

"Thor should know of this," he said, finally. Both his parents winced and Loki heard himself hurry on, "I could speak to him, if you gave me leave. I will say nothing unless you agree, but he should know." _There should be no secrets in families,_ his mother had told him once-- but, like his father, she had kept secrets, had lied, and would have continued to lie if Loki had not learned the truth for himself. 

Loki wrenched his mind away from that memory, reminding himself that in a very real way there had been no lies at all, except by omission. He was their son, whatever the circumstances of his birth. (Unconsciously he flexed his right hand, remembering the panicky horror when he saw the blue, _hoping_ to learn he had only been cursed. It was strange indeed, how the memory of the terror itself could live on, even after he had come to understand there was nothing to be afraid _of._ )

This was different. There was no way Thor could possibly be harmed, if this matter remained secret between himself and his parents. Try as he might-- and Loki was very good at seeing disasters all around him-- he could not see how his brother could actually be _injured._

Except, of course, in the matter of confidence in his family. Except in the matter of trust. It was one thing to conceal the lost brother from both sons, another entirely to tell one and not the other. Dimly, Loki remembered his belief that Thor must have known of Loki's origins, and what that had led to-- 

And _that_ was neither here nor there, nothing he would think of now.

Loki glanced at his mother and _knew_ she would wish to keep silent, to swear him to secrecy. He also knew that her protests, before, when she claimed that she had tried to make Father tell the truth, were self-protective lies. 

He wondered how someone not hers by blood, and raised largely by servants, could be so much her son. 

Loki was so focused on his mother that for a moment he did not notice his father remaining quiet, letting Frigga make the choice. When he did, however, Loki also held his peace and let her decide. 

And at length, she nodded. "Of course he must be told."

Loki did not miss the significance of her words. "Would you have me do it?" he asked. This had been terribly painful for his mother, to remember not only the loss, but also that unreasonable feeling of being _at fault_ for it. For her to tell the story again would be to revisit the same pain. Loki had not lived with the memory of the lost child, had only just learned of his existence, would not be hurt to speak of him. He could warn Thor that this was a matter that called for tender handling, when next he saw their mother. It was not that Thor was insensitive, he would rather do anything than cause their mother grief, but it was always easier to be considerate when one was properly warned. "Let me do this for you," he coaxed.

Frigga's lips tightened, and her hand on his. "Would you?" She looked ashamed to ask him to spare her this, a woman who had struck down armed intruders twice her size. Intruders whose presence was all his fault.

"Of course," Loki assured her. _I owe you much more than this._ "It is fitting, for the two of us to talk of the brother who might have been. Anything more... can be spoken of at another time."

Frigga leaned forward to embrace him, whispered in his ear, "I do not say it enough, but you are a good son to me, and always have been."

"As you are a good mother, to all your children," Loki whispered back. 

He had, it turned out, one last clean tissue in his pocket to offer. 

~oOo~

The visit lasted much longer than Loki had anticipated, by the time he kissed his mother goodnight and walked back out to the gardens. To his surprise-- but not displeasure-- Odin accompanied him. Loki had never world-walked in his father's presence before, had hidden the skill for as long as he could out of an obscure fear it would be forbidden simply on the grounds it was Loki who did it. 

Well, when one considered the uses to which he had put the ability…

As they stepped from the stone terrace onto the grass of the garden, Loki gathered all the courage he had and turned to his father. 

"Is this, at last, the end of secrets between us?" 

There was an unnervingly long pause before Odin nodded. "Between parents and sons, yes. This is the end." 

It took a moment more for Loki to understand. "But the king may still have secrets to keep. I understand." For once he spoke truth: the secrets of kings were a different matter, to be shared between Odin and Thor when the time came, and nothing to do with Loki. 

It would have been easy to take the reminder as a rebuke. Before Loki could do so, his father added, 

"I never thought to ask her if he had a name. I believe it was of comfort to her that you did. That was well thought."

Loki shrugged uneasily. "I am told there was no naming ceremony for me on Jotunheim, but I thought, perhaps… my mother would have called me _something,_ just between ourselves. And so…"

"Yes," Odin said heavily. And then, "I expected you would be warlike, with Laufey's blood. I confess, it surprised me when I finally realized that, as well as you conducted yourself in your brother's company, your tastes and talents lay elsewhere." 

Loki stayed quiet: of course he knew, now, that his efforts to be a seemly prince had not been as thoroughly overlooked as he had always believed. He was no longer sorry to fall short in warrior's prowess-- though really, when the measure was _Thor,_ who would not?-- but the idea that, had he lived up to the standards of _Asgard,_ he would only have been seen as more the son of _Laufey_ made him wish for a moment he had rejected the warrior's arts entirely in favour of… of _poetry._ And _cooking._

And then he thought of Thor, working pastry in his floury hands, and he nearly laughed out loud. 

"I suppose I overlooked the fact you also had a mother on Jotunheim," Odin was saying. "You do her honour-- _both_ your mothers. And your father."

"My _only_ father," Loki murmured, embraced him, and was gone. 

He emerged beside the dustbins in the garden behind the pink house, with no clear idea how long he had been gone, whether Annie and her family might still be talking together. Peering through the kitchen window, he could see no lights in the lounge. The little one over the stove was lit, however. That was a sign the house was waiting for its occupants to return. 

Loki let himself quietly into the house through the kitchen door, to be greeted by the kittens. He knelt on the floor to rub their heads and let them climb on his lap. 

Then he went through the house to let himself out at the front door, and walked down the street to join his friends in the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Notes:_** I just didn't have the nerve, in a universe where mythology is non-existent, to name the third baby Balder. But I've been thinking that Frigga's problems as a mother probably had part of their roots in something real, and so I indulged myself in this little fancy. Umbilical prolapse, which is what happened here, is a real obstetric emergency. 
> 
> I think Odin is finally telling the truth, and they've run out of secrets kept from each other. Except, I suppose, Loki still has to tell his parents about his plans for the future.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** Since there aren't enough characters in this series already, have some more! And a change of scenery, just for fun.
> 
> Also-- in previous stories, I assumed (but I don't believe I ever said) that Jane would have told her friends about the Bristol vampire adventure. It's occurred to me that, for Mitchell and George's safety, she probably didn't. This would have implications. 
> 
> **Warnings:** None needed.

Midgardian alcohol had little effect on the housemates, what with Annie unable to consume it, Loki and George possessed of inhumanly high metabolisms, and Mitchell dead. This was a mercy, since three of them, after all, had to go to work in the morning. 

A circumstance the housemates roundly ignored for the evening: when Loki arrived at the pub, he discovered Annie and Catherine had joined George and Mitchell at a table in the corner. The surface before them was already littered with empty beer glasses. When Loki arrived there was enough cross-talk that none of the human customers appeared to notice the remarks being directed toward an apparently-empty chair. He seated himself to the right of this chair, pushing his own close enough for physical-- or possibly metaphysical-- contact with Annie, who promptly leaned into him in a way that suggested she found the contact as welcome as he did. 

Indeed, when he turned his head-- pretending to speak to Mitchell, on her other side-- their noses were practically touching. This made it a little difficult to focus on Annie's face, and presumably vice-versa, but there were other compensations and besides, each of them knew what the other looked like. 

"Do you wish to speak about it?" Loki asked, as soon as he was settled with a glass of his own before him. Annie dug her chin gently into his left shoulder and murmured, 

"Yes, but… not right away. I still feel a little raw." 

"Very well," Loki agreed. "So long as you know I want to listen." 

"You're sweet," Annie told him, in a sentimental voice that sounded rather as though she was intoxicated. Since she obviously could not have been drinking, Loki found himself diagnosing extreme emotional exhaustion. And while it was folly to claim to be able to truly understand what anyone else was feeling-- the condition, at least, was one Loki could appreciate. 

He had just started to say words to that effect when Annie suddenly stiffened and exclaimed, "Oh no-- dammit!"

"What?" Loki asked, pulling his head back in an effort to be able to focus on her face. 

"I forgot to ask my sister if they've had a baby yet," Annie explained, sitting up and looking distressed. "My only chance and I wasted it-- "

"I asked her," Loki said quickly. 

"You did?" Annie asked, startled. 

"Yes. I thought… you had so many other things to think of, perhaps you would forget. I told her that you had spoken of your desire to become an aunt. They have not, yet." Loki chewed his lower lip. "Your sister seemed very touched, to know you were so interested." 

For a moment it appeared to be a very near thing, whether Annie would cry. Emotional exhaustion appeared to triumph, however, and instead she just hugged his left arm and leaned into his shoulder again. Loki parked his elbows on the table before him and rested his chin in his left hand, a posture in which he looked quite natural while still providing a suitable leaning post for Annie. Fortunately, he used his right hand to lift his drink. 

Catherine, who was drinking ginger ale in deference to the fact she still had to drive herself home, glanced at Annie and asked, 

"Now that you've spoken to your parents, have you given any thought to whether you need to confront Owen again?"

Loki could feel Annie shudder against him, turned his head just enough to let his cheek rest against her hair. 

"Yes," Annie mumbled, "because it went so well the first time I tried it."

"He'll be here this weekend," Mitchell reminded her, and explained to Catherine, "He's supposed to fix the boiler."

"Yes," George snarled into the depths of his latest beverage, "and later he'll go repair communications satellites."

"Do you suppose he'll actually turn up?" Annie wondered. "After all, he's let this run on a pretty long time already."

"If his tenants were women, I feel quite sure he would not," Loki replied with asperity. Annie crimped her mouth in a gesture of agreement. 

"The point is," Mitchell said patiently, "he's still the landlord, and we put this whole boiler thing in motion before we figured out what he is, so we're going to have to deal with him at least this once more. After he does nothing useful this time, we can tell him we'll call an expert and send the bill through the house agents' or something-- "

"Which we apparently should have done in the first place, rather than let them muck us about all this time," George muttered. "If it wasn't for Loki we'd all have died of hypothermia weeks ago."

"What's Loki been doing?" Catherine asked. 

"Heating the tubs of water," George explained.

"Which is greatly appreciated, but a bit tiring for him," Mitchell said. "Especially considering he could just transform himself into something that likes cold water and tell us to go hang."

"I would have," Loki assured him, "except I have long since learned that when I attempt to bathe in another form, that is the form that becomes clean. Not mine, sadly. Were it not for that, I would have left you both to cope ages ago."

"Of course you would," Mitchell said kindly, in a tone of utter disbelief. Loki grinned at him and gestured to the waitress to request another round of drinks. 

"About Owen," he said, once the fresh beverages had been delivered and the empty glasses cleared away. "Annie, perhaps what you need to do is simply give him a good fright and then have nothing more to do with him."

"He's not _afraid_ of me, Loki," Annie protested, rather fretfully. "He proved that when we tried the dream trick."

"He was not afraid of the _dream,"_ Loki argued. Never let it be said that Loki knew when to give up on a lost cause. Catherine raised her eyebrows in a question, and Loki explained, "Last Tuesday, Annie and I paid a visit to Owen and his latest victim, Janey, with whom he lives. With the aid of a few minor charms, we were able to persuade them in turn that Annie was appearing to them in dreams."

"What was the purpose of appearing to Janey?" asked Catherine, who was a great advocate for fair play. She was probably concerned that the poor little mortal had been tormented for sport. 

"She has to get away from him," Annie explained. "And if my experience is anything to go by, she'll need a push to do it. It turns out she already suspects he killed me, but she's trying not to admit the same thing could happen to her. Loki and I hoped the dream might help her believe she's right to worry about it."

"Dreams are messages from one's own mind, after all," Loki pointed out. "If Janey believes her mind created the visit from Annie, if she thinks it is her way of coming to terms with these things she knows, she might be inclined to take it seriously."

"That's a good point," Catherine agreed, sipping her ginger ale. Her expression was approving and perhaps impressed. It occurred to Loki that he might have misinterpreted her initial reaction. "Did she?"

"I think so," Annie replied. "Although it's anyone's guess whether she's got the nerve to do anything about it."

"Her coworker is worried enough to attempt to make her see sense," Loki said. "Annie heard such a discussion when she paid a visit to Janey's workplace, is that not so?" Annie nodded. "And after the business of the dreams, I also went there, in disguise, and left the coworker with, perhaps, further reason to be concerned about Janey's circumstances. I do not know whether this will prove to be enough to make her take her own safety seriously, but we think it is making an impression." 

Catherine nodded. "And you say you tried the same thing with Owen?"

"Yes," Loki admitted. "His reaction was... not productive." He glanced at Annie and admitted, "He seemed to think his mind had conjured Annie simply so that he might heap further abuse upon her. The effort was worse than useless." 

"Ouch," Catherine said calmly, and turned to Annie with a compassionate look. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Loki got me out of there before he could do much harm," Annie said quickly. 

"Annie, you were the one who removed yourself," Loki reminded her. 

"Yes, but I completely froze up," she pointed out. "I'd have just stayed there and let him say whatever he liked, if you hadn't told me to get away. It was awful." Loki tipped his head toward her again, wondering whether she could hear the difference in her own voice. As she spoke about the incident, instead of fearful and ashamed, she was beginning to sound angry. Loki wholeheartedly approved of the anger. 

"I wonder," Catherine said casually, "whether your reactions might be a little different now. Since you've had a chance to confront your family."

Annie sat up a little straighter. "It wasn't really a confrontation," she argued, but her voice was thoughtful. 

"Not in the sense of fighting with them," Catherine agreed. "But you spoke for yourself and made sure your family heard you."

" _You_ made sure," Annie protested. Catherine sighed and looked patient. Loki turned his head, once again propping his chin in his right hand, and gazed steadily at her. Mitchell and George also directed their attention toward Annie, and finally she snapped, "All right, then. I-- " Her face changed, looked startled and, perhaps, proud. "I did, didn't I?" 

"You did," Catherine confirmed. "And it must have been difficult, because-- unlike Owen-- your family _matters._ You had good reason to fear that conversation, because the stakes were so high, but you handled it very well. You expressed what you needed to, you listened to their words and responded to them, and you ended with a better understanding among you all. Isn't that right?" 

"I... I suppose so," Annie agreed, slowly. 

"All right," Catherine said. "And having done that, there's no reason whatsoever for you to be unable to confront Owen and put him in his proper place in your world-- which is to say, nowhere." Annie looked anxious but undeniably tempted, and Loki suspected the idea of banishing Owen to the outer darkness was among the most enticing imaginable.

"But what if I-- I might get scared and-- " Annie faltered, her words trailing off. 

Loki suddenly realized there was a role here for Annie's friends. 

"You would not have to be alone," he spoke up hastily. "We would not make you-- "

"But it's his house, and if he knows you, you know about me," Annie protested, "he might... do something."

Loki shrugged, at exactly the same moment George grunted and Mitchell let out a snort. It was all very inelegant, but adequately expressed the contempt felt by the household toward Owen. 

"Really, Annie," Loki spoke for all of them, "if the choice is to stand up to Owen and find a new abode, or bend our heads to him to be allowed to stay-- "

"When you put it that way," George said, "a tent in the park sounds pretty good." Mitchell raised a glass in a toasting gesture. 

"But he can't even see me!" Annie pointed out. "How can I talk to him when he can't even see me?" 

"He can if I hold him by the throat," Loki suggested, longingly. He generally counted on his friends to restrain him when he became carried away like this. Instead, Mitchell nodded, and George looked speculative, as though they were considering sharing the fun of taking Owen by the throat. 

Possibly not just with their hands. 

Not even Catherine looked inclined to remonstrate with them over the matter, but-- and this was possibly the lingering effect of centuries spent with the feeling of someone watching him and judging everything he did-- Loki felt uneasy enough to take a mental step back. 

"However," he amended, rather reluctantly, "it strikes me that would be a bad idea, if only because it would cheat Annie out of her right to confront Owen for herself."

 _"Can't see me,"_ Annie sang gently, and then distracted Loki rather badly by letting her hand fall onto his thigh. 

When he collected his thoughts, Loki insisted, "I am confident that something can be done in that direction. There must be a spell among my books that could render you at least temporarily visible to humans."

"And Owen," Mitchell murmured into his beer, and George giggled. 

"If we were there," Loki continued, as though there had been no interruption, "Owen would be a great deal less arrogant and self-assured, and Annie would be much likelier to be able to speak freely. We will not interfere," he added quickly, turning to her. "We will simply support you." 

Annie patted his leg. "Maybe we should go find that spell, then."

~oOo~

Much later, Loki was in bed, balancing a large magical grimoire on his chest. He was trying to neither drop it on Philip and Elizabeth-- who had moved from their customary place on his sternum up to his throat when the book displaced them-- nor inhale too much of their fur as he paged through the spells. 

He was also taking care not to disturb Annie beside him. Among the other interesting things they had learned over the past few days was, Annie's longstanding insomnia seemed mostly to afflict her when she was alone. Perhaps any friendly presence would be enough to provide relief, but since they had only tested the effect of Loki's, he was quite willing to offer it. He was aware of the Midgardian euphemism concerning "sleeping together," which made him smile to himself as he thought of Clint Barton's expression, that day on the lawn of Tony's house. 

Tonight, even though she had only shared the barest outline of her encounter with her parents, Loki had been able to see that she was exhausted and in need of comfort. For once she had accepted the offer, and had fallen asleep under the light flowered quilt almost at once.

He carefully shifted the book so as to turn the page, and Elizabeth squeaked and pressed her damp little nose into the underside of his chin. Loki kept his place with his elbow as he reached down to rub her head. Scamp, on Annie's other side, looked up with perked ears. 

"Shh," Loki whispered. "Go back to sleep." Scamp wagged her tail sleepily, put her head back down on her forepaws, and did so. 

Loki was engrossed in what looked like a very promising spell when, from the bedside table, his mobile uttered its happy "someone has texted you!" chirp. He laid the book face-down across his stomach and reached for the device. 

There was no question in his mind who was texting him: Loki had sent Thor a message earlier, as he walked to the pub to greet the others. Having learned from his father that Thor was not in Asgard, Loki concluded his brother was mostly likely here on Midgard, and therefore texting was the most reliable way to get in contact. He had accordingly sent a short communication, indicating there was a matter (of no pressing urgency) which should be discussed between them. 

Sure enough, the present message was from Thor:

_Sureltn brptherm will ypu comr tp new mexivo and visot?_

Loki grinned to himself as he translated the message, occasionally referring to the keypad on his own mobile to help him guess what Thor had intended to type. It was not that his brother could not spell, only that his fingertips were as large as the rest of him, and he tended to press the wrong keys. Trying to correct one mistake generally led to the introduction of others, and auto-correct had only made matters worse. In the end, Loki and Thor's Midgardian friends had decided the best course was to simply learn to translate Thor-text in their minds. 

This one was easy:

_Surely, brother. Will you come to New Mexico and visit?_

Well, _deciphering_ it was easy. 

Loki studied the screen, deep in thought. He could certainly _go_ to this New Mexico, could find his way there through the branches of Yggdrasil. He had been there once before, though only to the temporary SHIELD installation far from general human habitation. The town itself, he had not visited. Not in person. But he had sent the Destroyer, had watched through the eyes of his magical second as destruction was wrought, and his brother... 

He put the mobile down next to his hip before he crushed it in his hand, and made himself breathe. 

Returned the grimoire to its shelf with a gesture, and picked up the mobile again to type a reply. 

_Will Jane not object?_

There was almost no delay at all before Thor's response came. Translated, it read:

_\- It was Jane's suggestion. Please come._

There was a time-- and it was a fairly recent time-- when Loki would have entertained grave suspicions about Jane's reasons for tendering such an invitation. Surely she only wished to have him on her own ground in order to punish him for his crimes against her. Or-- and this was the likelier idea, knowing Jane even slightly-- she thought him to have heart enough to be ashamed at the evidence of what he had done to her little town. It was true he had not killed anyone-- _permanently_ \-- but the children of the town were probably still plagued by nightmares of his making. His activities with the Avengers last summer, in New York, had served to SHIELD and the American government as amends for what he had done in New Mexico, but surely that made little difference to Jane's neighbours in the dark of night, and there was nothing he could do about that. 

Not long ago, he would have assumed these were Jane's motives for inviting him to come, and reasonable ones they would have been. But since then, they had developed a tentative friendship, one Jane had confirmed in their recent time together. If she still thought, which in fairness she might, that he should be punished or simply made to face the reality of what he had done, she would tell him so. She would not lure him to New Mexico with false promises of hospitality and then... _pounce._

There was, of course, the slight possibility that she had explained these intentions to Thor, and Thor had condensed everything into a single statement because it was too troublesome to type out the whole thing. That theory, however, assumed Thor was either stupid or naïve, and unable to comprehend the difference between what Jane had said and what he had texted. Loki knew his brother now, far too well to contemplate either of those as possibilities. It therefore followed the invitation was genuine. 

He was considering his reply when there was another muted chirp from the device in his hands. 

_\- It's Jane. I've met your friends, please come meet mine._

Loki chewed his lip. There was, as the humans said, no time like the present.

_Tomorrow, when I finish work? A short visit only. I need to speak to Thor, and would be glad to meet your friends._

Again, almost at once, came the reply:

_\- How are you planning to travel?_

Loki felt a smile tug at his lips. 

_Magic._

_-Cool! Explain when you get here?_

_Will try. I leave England early evening, when will I arrive?_

_\- Early afternoon. Will email you directions to find us when you get to town. T, Erik and I need to meet shield reps but Darcy will be there. Ok?_

_OK. See you soon_

There was a pause, then:

_\- Gppdnighy, brothrr_

Loki grinned to himself, and then deliberately typed:

_Gppdnighy Thpr_

And a moment later, the reply came:

_\- ;P_

~oOo~

Loki emerged from Yggdrasil onto a dry, sere plain, which stretched almost as far as he could see before rising into rugged mountains. There was only a little brown vegetation, and almost no evidence of water. The contrast between this place and England was stunning. One would hardly believe they were on the same realm. 

The contrast with Asgard was even greater, and Loki found himself imagining the sense of desolation and loneliness Thor must have felt, when first he found himself banished here. 

Well, fortunately for Thor, assistance had quickly arrived. 

And run him over in a car. 

Loki in his right mind had never found that story anything like as funny as Thor claimed to, and he forced it from his mind as he began to trudge toward the only collection of buildings within view. Jane had advised him to dress warmly, advice for which he was grateful as he huddled himself more tightly in the heavy olive-green winter coat he had purchased last year at the military surplus store. He was wearing a knitted hat, but still had to pause to raise the hood, which was trimmed in false fur that restricted his vision but gave an impression of coziness. Even so, the wind was sharp, and only a wish not to draw undue attention to himself prevented him from transporting himself by magic into the centre of the town. 

Well, perhaps not _only._

This was, of course, the route walked by the Destroyer. He had landed in the same place the Destroyer had been set down by the Bifrost. That was deliberate: it was easier to find a place he had been before, even if by proxy, and besides, he wanted-- he _needed_ \-- to _see._

Later, Loki was unsure exactly what he had expected to _see._ He had been living in England for two years, had been lost in the void for more than a year before that. It was three Midgardian years and more since the Destroyer came, and the humans had certainly not spent all that time staring blankly at their wreckage. Repairs had long since been made, and such were the actions of wind and dust that Loki truly could not tell what was new. He had little memory of the Destroyer's actions: he remembered blasting things and breaking things, but he could not really remember _what._

He had no memory at all of any little figures fleeing before him, only of Thor's friends making their hopeless stand, and his own utterly irrational feelings of rage and betrayal as he looked at them. 

The shiver that seized him had nothing whatever to do with the temperature.

The town was tiny, self-contained. Loki found a road that came from out of the town, where it undoubtedly connected to the motorway that must enable the inhabitants to travel to other towns and cities. It could not be pleasant, to make use of such a road when the winds blew across the flat plains, but there was no other way he could see for the humans to travel. 

Preoccupied by these thoughts as the road entered the town, Loki reached a crossing. He turned his hooded head to check for traffic, stepped out into the street--

And was promptly hit by a car. 

It was, he immediately realized, his own fault: he had momentarily forgotten that Americans drove on what he considered to be the wrong side of the road, and so he had looked in the opposite direction to the one he should have. Fortunately, the car had been pulling away from a stop sign, and was traveling very slowly, so the driver was able to engage the brakes in time to avoid more than bumping him. The car's engine stalled out as Loki stumbled sideways. He then tipped toward the car as he attempted to regain his balance, coming to a stop with his gloved hands on the bonnet. 

He looked up at the sound of a car door opening and closing, and a young female voice calling out,

"Oh my God, are you okay?" 

Loki straightened, did a mental inventory of his body parts, paying particular attention to his legs, and found no damage. He pushed back his hood to offer a conciliatory smile. 

"I really am terribly sorry. That was entirely my fault." This was not, strictly speaking, the truth, since ordinary prudence seemed to indicate one wait for the pedestrian to declare his intentions before driving through an intersection marked by stop signs. However, Loki had no desire whatsoever to make trouble for anyone in this town, least of all himself.

"You bet it was," declared the young woman, who was bespectacled and under a black knit cap had long dark hair flying about her face in the wind. Suddenly, her eyes widened and her red-lipsticked mouth dropped open. "Are you-- you have _got_ to be kidding me. You're _Thor's_ little brother, aren't you?" 

"The same," Loki admitted. He supposed he should really not be surprised: in a town of this size, one would expect everyone to be familiar with the business of everyone else, and besides, it was not in Thor to be reticent. He could only assume his accent was the giveaway. 

The young woman grinned at him. "Awesome. Jane showed me some pictures she took over Thanksgiving. How often does anyone get to run over _two_ members of the same family? You really need to get some road-safety courses on Asgard, dude." She extended a red-mittened hand. "I'm Darcy Lewis. Jane Foster's assistant." 

"Loki Odinson," Loki replied unnecessarily, put out a gloved hand and shook Darcy's. And then he felt the need to explain, "Ordinarily I do not make a practice of flinging myself into traffic, but in England-- "

"Oh, yeah. Other side of the road, right?" Loki nodded. Darcy also nodded. "Well, if you'll take a piece of advice, it might be a good idea to look both ways _before_ you step off any curbs. Or-- you're the magic guy, right?" Loki nodded again. "Maybe you could put a don't-get-run-over spell on yourself while you're here." She smirked. "Your brother could have used one of those, when he showed up."

"He has told me of his adventures," Loki agreed. 

"Well, we can't stand here in the street all day," Darcy announced. "I was just going to pick up some groceries. You want to come with?"

Loki finally looked properly at the car. It occurred to him that, even if it had struck him at full speed, it was difficult to imagine such a car causing serious injury: it was small and bulbous, with not a single straight line anywhere. Add to this the fact it was as yellow as the famous submarine, and it looked like a toy. 

"What sort of car is this?" he asked, looking down at the vehicle, which appeared to be smiling, its round headlights gazing innocently up at him. 

"Don't make fun," Darcy reprimanded him. "It's a Volkswagen Bug. A classic. Brand new-to-me, although it's older than my dad."

"I would not dream of making fun," Loki assured her, walking around to the passenger side and folding himself into the tiny vehicle before she could change her mind about letting him ride in it. He ended up peering at the dashboard between his own folded-up knees, which appealed considerably to his sense of humour. 

"Sorry about the clown-car effect," Darcy apologized. "The research truck isn't real practical for short trips into town, and anyway I wanted something of my own. This was what I could afford. And besides-- "

"Any person with sense would have chosen it," Loki announced, looking around the interior, which bore a more-than-passing resemblance to Mitchell's old Volvo. He patted the dash as though it was a pet. 

"Cute is its own excuse for being," Darcy said cheerfully, started the engine, and drove away. 

The grocery store was small but well-stocked, and Loki recognized many of the products as items they also had in England. He was quite confused by the currency, however, as the denominations were unfamiliar and all the bills appeared to be the same colour. He had not thought to exchange any money before he came here, and it occurred to him that it was as well he would not be here for very long. American merchants might not be willing to accept pound notes when they expected dollar bills. 

He was thinking about that as he helped Darcy carry her shopping to the car, but the matter was chased from his mind when she stepped in front of the little yellow vehicle and unlocked the bonnet, which she opened to reveal it was actually the boot. 

"Wait, wait, where is the engine?" Loki demanded, for a moment almost expecting her to confide that her little car ran on magic. 

"In the back," Darcy replied, amused. "And don't ask me why, I guess some German dude thought it was a good idea, back in the day. Come on, we have to get a move on, it's my turn to make dinner. Thor was all for ordering pizza, but Jane figured we could do you better than that. Sorry about the squishing," she added, as Loki crawled back into the passenger seat.

"I do not mind," Loki assured her. Certainly the amusement would pall on a longer trip, when he might resort to shapeshifting into something small enough to ride more comfortably, but in the short term Loki found the tiny car most endearing. 

"Well, at least you're skinny," Darcy remarked. "I tried to drive Thor over to SHIELD headquarters the day after I bought this, and he ended up practically sitting in my lap the whole way. I was pretty sure Jane was going to challenge me to a duel when we got home. And here we are." She pulled up next to a building composed of metal, concrete, and glass. At Loki's startled look, she explained, "It was originally a gas station. Petrol, I guess you'd say. It was abandoned when the company that ran it went out of business, and changed hands a few times before Jane got hold of it as a research base. Come on, help me with the groceries and I'll show you around." 

"Showing around" did not take very long. The research base consisted of a large room with glass on all sides, which made Loki feel rather as though he was in an aquarium, with closed rooms at the back which had once been offices. Now they appeared to be used for storage. A considerable amount of dust had blown or been tracked into the main room, and Loki had to fight the professional desire to look for a broom and do something about it. 

Behind the research building was a small residence, fronted with large windows. Darcy referred to it as "the cottage," and seemed to take considerable satisfaction in it. Apparently, the researchers had all lived in tiny metal "trailers" before SHIELD offered partnerships and funding. 

"At first we thought they were, you know, Mr. Evil Secret Ops Agency," Darcy said cheerfully. "But they're a lot more generous about living quarters and stuff than the university was. I admit, the cottage looks like it should be on a lake somewhere, but it's got bedrooms for all of us and a kitchen and everything. You want to help me start dinner?" Before Loki could reply, she added, "Oh geez, are you hungry? I totally forgot, it's probably already suppertime where you're from. Did you eat before you came?"

"I made a sandwich," Loki said quickly. "After work."

"Oh, well, good. Do you like meat loaf? I make a mean meat loaf, my mom gave me her recipe and I do her proud. Ordinarily Jane lives on, like, cereal, but when Thor's here we cook for him and she'll usually actually eat something." Darcy glanced sideways at Loki and remarked, "You probably know about getting all involved with something and forgetting to eat, do you?"

"Not really," Loki admitted. "I am told I simply have something called a high metabolism. Also, I run." 

"Cool," Darcy said. "I wouldn't recommend you try it out there today, unless you weigh a lot more than you look like you do, because Mary Poppins is a distinct possibility when the wind blows. Do you-- ?"

"I know about Mary Poppins," Loki assured her. 

He followed Darcy out the back door of the glass building, helped retrieve the shopping from the Bug, and carried it into the "cottage." 

Darcy busied herself with ground meat, rolled oats, and the other components of the "meat loaf," while Loki scrubbed some potatoes, cut them into wedges, and shook them in pepper and other seasonings preparatory to putting them in a dish to be roasted. He was investigating their vegetable options when Darcy spoke again. 

"You're pretty handy in the kitchen, for a prince from a foreign planet," she said. The light, teasing note had left her voice. Loki came alert, unsure whether he was right to sense danger, but instinctively suspicious. 

"I have done my share of cooking, since I came to live in England," he replied.

"Huh. Yeah." Darcy began working the meat mixture in plastic-gloved hands, her expression thoughtful. Loki had a sense he knew what would come next. 

And then it did:

"I've got to tell you, it's beyond weird to have you here. I mean, when Jane came back from that trip to England she said you were okay after all, but... dude. What you did to your brother was, like, the dick move to end all dick moves."

"I know it," Loki replied. He was unfamiliar with the epithet she used, but the sense of it was quite clear. It was also clear that, whatever intelligence had passed between Thor and Jane, Darcy had not been taken into their confidence. He was grateful indeed that Jane had concealed the existence of supernatural creatures, had protected his friends. It was only his bad luck that this concealment had required glossing over the reasons Jane had to forgive him.

"Yeah. When Thor's buddies told us everything you'd been up to, while he was here on Earth, none of us could believe it. Your own _brother_. And later, I mean, Jane could have totally ratted you out to SHIELD, when she found out you were on Earth. You would have deserved it. They'd have sent the stormtroopers after you, no doubt about it. You'd be in a little room with no windows, in an orange jumpsuit, until like the year 3000."

"I owe her a great deal," Loki said quietly, because there was little else he could say. He kept his eyes on his hands, which were by now scrubbing carrots. 

"Yeah, well, she did it for Thor," was Darcy's unsurprising comment. "I'd say it's him you really owe." Loki nodded, still without looking up. He wondered whether Jane had deliberately left him with Darcy, knowing what she would say, or whether anybody gave much thought to what Darcy thought or felt or believed. It was abundantly clear that no one had explained things to her, which perhaps indicated her discretion was not trusted. Or, of course, it could simply mean that nobody recognized the depth of her feelings on this matter. Either way, it seemed to Loki that little he could say would have much impact. 

He also wondered whether the other member of the group, the "Erik" of whom Thor sometimes spoke, would have as much to say on the matter of Loki's iniquities. 

Well, it was not as if he did not deserve all of it. Perhaps, someday, he would come to the end of those to whom he owed reparations and apologies. 

On Earth, at least. 

Darcy was quiet for a surprisingly long time, and Loki finally realized she was waiting for him to say something. He had no idea what she might be expecting, but he owed her at least the effort. 

"Believe me," Loki said quietly, "I am aware how indebted I am to my brother, and I do not underestimate his kindness, or his forgiveness. I owe a great deal to this whole realm, for the chances I have been given to make some sort of amends. And I am very sorry for the horrors I put you-- and your town-- through."

Darcy was silent for what felt like a very long time. Loki focused on slicing the carrots into coins. Finally, she said, 

"Jane didn't ask you here just so I could pick on you. She'd be pretty mad if she knew I cornered you about this." 

Her tone reminded Loki irresistibly of a guilty schoolchild. He stopped cutting the carrots, set down the knife, and looked up with a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "There is no need to worry. I have lied often enough to keep myself out of trouble, I can certainly lie for you." Darcy looked even guiltier, and Loki amended, "Omit certain facts, then. I am good at it. Do not worry."

"Thanks," Darcy muttered.

"Least I can do," Loki told her. 

"Thor's really glad you're here," Darcy offered, after a moment.

"I know," Loki replied, his voice tight. "Would you like these carrots mashed once they are cooked?"

"I think just steamed is okay," Darcy mumbled. "Thanks for the help."

"Glad to do it," Loki said evenly. Then he caught himself. _I am not the injured party here._ He turned to Darcy, made himself face her squarely, and took a deep breath. "You have every right to speak your mind about this, and to be angry at me. I know what I did was wrong, and it is only fair that I hear the words and know the feelings of those I injured." _I am not Owen._

He was not Owen, if only because he understood he had done wrong and could take responsibility for it. That was something. It had to be something. 

He told himself so, more than once, as he put the potatoes into the oven beside the meat, and waited to turn on the heat under the carrots. By the time the smell of cooking began to fill the little kitchen, he almost believed it. 

He was still very grateful to hear the sound of another vehicle pulling up outside the little house, the door opening, and the sound of his brother's voice calling, "Loki? Are you here?"

Loki called on the smile that had once fooled Thor as easily as everyone else, and made his way across the living area to embrace his brother in the doorway.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** In which it may not really be a surprise that nobody ever figured out Loki is adopted. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Feels, again.

As he crossed the living area to greet his brother, Loki experienced a sense of misgiving: he had for centuries assumed his lying smile concealed his true feelings from his family, from Asgard. (He did not think he had ever used it on his housemates-- he had not ever had to.) But Father had seen right through it only a day or so ago. And, if he believed their words-- which he now did-- it appeared his parents, at least, had nearly always known when there was something wrong with him, even though they had generally not acted on that knowledge. 

Loki was a talented liar, but he had always known that many of his lies had depended upon the tendency of others to want to believe them. Apparently, too, at least some of them had also depended on those he lied to choosing to _pretend_ to believe them. 

Thor, of course, knew when there was something wrong with Loki, and he could be depended upon to try to help. There was, most times, great comfort in knowing that.

This was not one of those times, because Loki's visit here was short and could not be wasted in petty grievances. And besides, the last thing Loki wanted was to be seen whining to his brother that _one of his victims_ had been unkind to him-- especially not when the victim had been entirely concerned about _Thor._ The conflict between Thor's appreciation of Darcy's friendship, and his lifelong instinct to protect Loki, would surely be painful. There was even the chance Thor and Jane would rebuke Darcy for speaking so to Loki, and where was the justice in that?

He only needed a moment. He would be perfectly all right as soon as Thor and Jane's presence re-established the atmosphere of friendliness and welcome. He would think about Darcy's words at another time, some night when sleep was evasive. For the moment what he needed, and quickly, was a distraction. 

Jane, bless her, unwittingly provided one. 

"Hi, Loki," she said with a smile. "I hope Darcy's making you feel welcome?"

Out of the corner of his eye Loki was sure he saw Darcy blanch. He had already assessed her as one prone to mischief, but she was apparently not a liar, and she was either feeling guilty for confronting Loki, or worried that he would break his word and tell on her. Before anyone could take special note of her reaction, Loki blurted, 

"She has! In fact, she provided the traditional welcome given members of our family, when first we come to New Mexico!"

Thor gave a humorous frown and asked, "What did she do-- run you over with her car?" Loki put on a face of innocence, and waited. Thor's eyes widened. "Wait-- she _did?_ Loki, how did you manage _that?"_

"I do not see why you assume it was my fault," Loki sulked, exaggerating his offense. 

"Well, surely she did not chase you across the desert," Thor pointed out. 

"What did you do, land in the middle of the street when you arrived?" Jane asked. 

"I may have forgotten the direction from which I should be expecting traffic, when I stepped off the curb," Loki admitted, again rather theatrically. 

Jane burst out laughing, grabbed him by the hand, and-- still giggling-- asked, "Are you okay? I know it's really not funny, but-- you seem to be walking all right so you can't be hurt, I wouldn't be laughing if you were hurt-- "

"Hey, come on, I hardly even bumped him," Darcy said, having apparently found her tongue and realized Loki truly had no intention of, as she had put it, _ratting her out._ "He stepped out in front of me as I was pulling away from a stop sign. I just barely touched him."

"Are you sure you are not injured?" Thor asked, his amusement giving way to predictable, warming, concern. 

"Entirely uninjured. It jolted my leg, but I was scarcely knocked off balance." Thor continued to look doubtful. Loki rolled his eyes. "If you wish me to prove it by dancing for you-- "

"I feel sure you are not drunk enough for that, brother," Thor demurred, and Loki felt his chest expand with a full breath as he smiled at his brother. 

"When I visited England, that last time, I did the same thing. I nearly walked right in front of a bus," Jane contributed. "Two old ladies-- and I mean, _old,_ one of them must have been ninety-- grabbed me, and then they scolded me for a good ten minutes about being more careful. After that I looked both ways, and I also watched out for pensioners." 

"I'm afraid to ask what you're talking about," said a man's voice from the doorway, and Loki looked over Thor's shoulder at the last member of the group as he entered the dwelling. "Erik Selvig," the man said, with a quick smile. He looked more polite than welcoming, but he extended a hand to shake. 

Loki knew this Selvig was Jane's research colleague, not a relative, but he looked old enough to be her father, and Loki had gathered from Thor that the relationship was an affectionate one. That, Loki decided, was sufficient to account for the cool formality of his greeting, which Loki pretended not to notice as he shook hands. Jane, who was apparently not fooled, flicked a worried glance from Selvig to Loki, before acquiescing to the situation and smiling as if she thought everyone was friends here. 

Which, of course, everyone was. Just not all of them with each other. 

Most fortunately, everyone was hungry and it was already past the hour at which Jane and her friends normally dined. After washing of hands and carrying of food and utensils to the table, Loki took the seat to which he was directed, and joined the others in helping things around. 

It was unclear whether Thor noticed a certain tension simmering underneath the surface-- certainly, he was not dense, but Loki still considered it possible he might indulge in a little wishful thinking with regard to people he very much wanted to like each other. 

He did, however, engage Darcy and Jane in a teasing exchange regarding their driving abilities ("Really, your ability to nullify powerful aliens with motorized vehicles rises almost to the level of a superpower!") that drew attention firmly away from Loki. It seemed unlikely he was not doing it on purpose. 

Finally, though, he turned to Loki and asked, "Must you go back tonight? It would be very good if you could stay until tomorrow and visit a little. This is a strange and beautiful place."

"I would like nothing better," Loki said, almost truthfully. "But Annie needs my help with something, and so I must return tonight. Annie is a very dear friend of mine," he explained quickly, to Darcy and the quiet Selvig.

"Well," Jane said, helping herself to another potato, "you'll just have to come back soon, then." She smiled and indicated the dish to ask if he wanted more. 

Loki had just leaned forward to accept the offer when Darcy said, in a strained voice, 

"Seems like a person should put his family before his friends." She cut a look of panicky defiance at Loki and he realized what she was doing: rather than confess to the earlier confrontation-- such as it was, Loki had certainly experienced far worse, in terms of being made to know he was unwelcome-- she was going to hint at it, and try to compel Jane to react one way or the other. This was an undeniably childish thing to do, but since Loki had, more times than he could count, been guilty of similar behaviour, he was not inclined to fault her for it.

It was possible Darcy thought Jane would take her part, but based on her expression Loki considered it unlikely. He suspected this effort was serving the dual purposes of relieving Darcy's feelings, and acting as a tacit confession to her earlier behaviour. 

Apparently, it was not only the royal family of Asgard who were unable to speak up fearlessly about their feelings. He supposed that was a nice thing to know.

Despite understanding Darcy's purpose, Loki found himself flushing uncomfortably, and could not resist peeking at Thor, to see if his brother gave anything away on hearing this. 

Thor's face was tight, and his ears had gone rather pink. The glance he cast at Loki was uncomfortably complicated, but what he said, quietly, was:

"I assure you, Darcy, my brother does not require instruction on the importance of _family."_ Darcy's expression made her doubts very clear, but Thor turned away without comment and said to Loki, "Of course you must keep your promise to Annie. She needs your support rather badly right now, does she not?" As Loki nodded, Thor went on, "But there is a matter you wish to discuss with me, is that right?"

"We can clear out for a bit so you two can talk," Jane offered, glancing at her two friends with an unmistakable air of command. 

Selvig looked just as doubtful as Darcy had, and also perhaps as if his fatherly instincts might be extended to Thor. On the one hand, of course, that was ridiculous, since Thor was well over a thousand Midgardian years old. However, by Aesir standards he was still a young man, and there were certain kinds of support he had never received in Asgard. Loki-- with what amounted to a whole network of kindly older mortals to share with him the benefit of their wisdom-- was not inclined to minimize the value of what Selvig was offering.

"It is a family matter I wish to speak of, but there is no reason your friends cannot hear it, if you would like them to stay," Loki spoke up. He realized, with shame, that he had no idea how important Darcy and Selvig were to Thor: the subject of the two mortals simply never seemed to come up when the brothers were together. Knowing he was probably making Darcy's point for her, he added, "My friends are, after all, privy to almost everything about my life-- although I have not told them about this just yet. I wanted to speak to you first."

Thor looked unaccountably as though he had been paid a compliment, which made Loki shrink a little inside. Selvig still looked doubtful, and Loki suspected the man thought Loki was about to confess to further betrayals, taking advantage of Thor's soft heart to escape his deserved punishment. 

Which, of course, neatly summed up their history together, but this was the exception. A little feeling of rebellion rose in Loki as he repeated, "It is nothing your friends cannot hear. They are welcome to stay." 

Jane looked from one brother to the other, then stood up and reached for Thor's empty plate. 

"Tell you what: why don't you boys go sit in the living room and talk, and the rest of us will clean up out here. We can join you in a few minutes, if you want us."

"I made dinner," Darcy objected. "Well, part of dinner."

"Then we'll let you skip your next turn on dish duty," Jane replied remorselessly. "Thor, maybe you could put a fire on for us." 

"Certainly," Thor replied, pushing back his own chair. "Thank you, Darcy, everything was delicious."

"I just made the meat loaf," Darcy admitted. "Loki did the vegetables." Really, she was a most contrary being. 

"Thank you, too, brother," Thor corrected himself amiably. "Perhaps you can also help me with the fire."

"Of course," Loki mumbled. 

Thor was, of course, perfectly adept with fires, and the fireplace in the living area was already made up with kindling, only waiting to be set alight. Loki cast a little glow of flame, and in a short time the fire was crackling merrily. In the kitchen, Jane was leading her friends in a muted clatter of washing-up. Thor gestured Loki to a seat on one end of the sofa, took the other himself, and asked, 

"What is on your mind, brother?"

"I told Mother I would speak to you about this," Loki began. Now they were about to begin, Loki found himself casting about for words, wondering how to avoid the abruptness he had thoughtlessly inflicted on their mother. "It is really her story to tell, but... she finds it painful."

"What is it?" Thor prompted. 

Loki took a deep breath. "Do you recall your memory, when you were very young, of Mother being with child?" Thor nodded, realization already beginning to show in his eyes. Loki still carried on: "It transpires you did not invent that memory after all. I was in Asgard for... another purpose... and it occurred to me to ask her. I am not sure why I did it, except that I never remembered you being a fanciful child." Thor's games had mostly involved pretended battles and glory, being like Father. Loki supposed it was unfair of him, to find it so hard to picture his brother's mind conjuring such a... _domestic_ fancy. He felt a little guilty about that. 

"I had supposed it was because... well, I was so proud to be your elder brother," Thor said thoughtfully, and Loki's heart twisted in his chest at the thought of how that pride had been repaid. "I assumed I had created the memory. Are you telling me she really was with child?" 

Loki nodded. "Yes. His name was Kjartan." He was not sure why it was so important to him, to give the lost brother his name. "There was a misfortune during his birth, and he died." With a considerable effort of will, he did not look toward Selvig in the kitchen-- if the scientist read mythology he would probably be convinced Loki had somehow had a hand in what happened, but there was no need to bring that up to Thor. He went on quickly, "Mother was, of course, devastated." He glanced at his brother. "It is still hard for her to even think of it."

Thor was clearly trying to put the facts together. "The baby died at birth?" he asked. Loki nodded. "And... when did Father-- ?" 

"When did he find me?" Loki asked, conscious of the others trying not to listen, and wondering exactly what Thor had told them about the circumstances under which he had joined the family.

He knew the Avengers knew, after all they had been through together there was little they did not know about him-- he understood they had even seen him in Jotun form, although being dead at the time Loki did not remember much about the incident. 

Of course, the Avengers needed to know Loki's history, needed to understand him the way they did each other, so as not to be surprised by weaknesses they should have been able to predict. Jane and her friends were Thor's only, and their role was more in the nature of Loki's with his housemates. While he thought Jane probably knew, he could not be sure-- she would, of course, be interested in Loki only insofar as Loki affected Thor. And there was no reason to think Thor had spent much time talking about the specifics of _Loki's_ life, when he was with the friends who had taken him in and offered him kindness after _Loki_ got him banished. 

Well, either they knew or they did not, and if they were curious Thor could explain things later. 

Concentrating once again on his story, Loki said, "Father had been away at the war for most of Mother's pregnancy, and he knew the time was close when he entered the temple and found me. He said his first plan was to pass me off as the twin of the newborn he thought was waiting for him in Asgard."

"But that means-- " Thor began, and hesitated. "It means that what he said-- "

Loki nodded. "Yes. It means that story he told the court-- the garbled explanation he tried to give me in the weapons vault-- those were lies. He only tried to think of a use for me afterward, and I think that was mostly in case anyone ever remembered the dead baby-- in spite of Father's magic-- and realized I was a changeling."

Thor shook his head. "Then why in the Nine would he have told you what he did in the vault? Especially since the plans would have stood no chance of working in the first place?"

Loki shrugged. "He was, of course, not thinking very clearly at the time, but I wonder now if he might have had some idea of trying to convince me I was important, too. I was not the heir, not favoured, not beloved of Asgard-- but I had a purpose, and a value as well."

Thor pressed his fingertips to his forehead, as though in pain. "And, of course, he would actually have done much better to tell you instead-- "

 _"I was sickened with killing, and you were such a dear little thing,"_ Loki completed the thought, in a mock-coo. Sobering, he admitted, "I might have been too hysterical to listen to that, either, but it was definitely a time when a little honesty might have actually helped."

"I confess, I find it hard to picture Father thinking that way," Thor admitted. 

"You just wait until you give him his first grandchild," Loki predicted. "I suspect you are in for the surprise of your life." He felt a little twist in his heart and squashed it ruthlessly: he had more than he deserved already, and would not whine for more. Hastily picking up the thread of his story, he explained, "He brought me to Mother, and that was when he learned there was no baby awaiting him in Asgard after all. Mother agreed to keep me, Father swore Heimdall to secrecy, then placed appropriate charms on the memories of Mother's attendants-- word of the loss had not yet left Mother's household-- and together they passed me off as theirs, until... I found out." He shrugged. "And now I come again, asking uncomfortable questions and winkling out secrets that only cause pain. Really, I have no idea why they are still so fond of me."

Thor smiled, reached over to pat Loki's knee. Then he said thoughtfully, "It is strange, is it not, that you were not given the name Mother had chosen already."

Loki blinked. He did not find it strange at all, and said so: "That name belonged to the other baby." 

Thor also looked confused. "But that child never lived, and Mother had you. Would she not-- ?" 

It would do no good to throw a lamp at Thor's head, Loki told himself. All these years, and Father had never known Kjartan's name until Loki had asked it. There was no unkindness meant by either of them. Loki was still deeply grateful he had persuaded Mother to let him tell Thor.

"He was alive _to Mother,"_ Loki pointed out, as patiently as he could. "I was _a completely different child._ She loved me then and loves me now, but she carried that other child, and felt him move, and imagined what he would look like and how he would grow and... And then she had to behave as if he had never existed at all. It would have been better if they really had pretended I was a twin, so Mother would have been able to properly grieve for Kjartan." 

Thor raised his eyebrows. "Now that does sound like something you would think of-- kindly meant, but over-complicated."

"Well, over-complicated, anyway," Loki agreed. "There was enough that could have gone wrong as it was. But I do wish Mother had been able to... She blamed herself, you know. She spoke of finding nursery attendants who would keep us _safe._ I suppose... that must be why she held herself at such a distance from us, even though she wanted-- " He broke off suddenly, at the expression on Thor's face. "What?"

Thor winced. "I was just remembering... something else I thought I must have imagined. I remember, a little, Mother being affectionate, calling me to her, with no attendant bringing me into her presence. She was just _there,_ and I could go to her as I wished, climb into her lap. It was different, after... "

"After I came," Loki completed the thought. _Oh, brother, I really do ruin everything, do I not?_

"It was not your fault," Thor said stoutly, and that much was true, really: of course Loki had nothing to do with what happened to Kjartan, was not the reason Mother had been so afraid.

And, of course, no one had known what caused the queen to suddenly lose all confidence in her abilities as a mother, so no one had reassured her. Certainly no one had reassured the little boy who was, in his own mind, suddenly banished from his mother's presence, exiled to a nursery, with only servants and the whining little creature who must have seemed to be the reason it happened. 

There must have been resentment. There was no way it could have been avoided. 

"And yet you were kind to me," Loki murmured. "You let me cling to you for as long as you could stand it, and then I... Oh, Thor, I am so sorry-- "

Something twisted in Thor's face, and he leaned forward with sudden urgency.

"Brother," he said, almost harshly, and his tone and expression made Loki flinch. "Stop. Apologizing. To me." There was sudden silence in the kitchen, Jane and the others finally abandoning all pretense of not listening. Thor, still with an unreadable look on his face, raised his voice to call to them: "Would you please come join us? I think I prefer to say this only once, if I can help it." 

Jane, looking very serious, led the way into the living area, took a seat in the chair nearest Thor. Darcy and Selvig also seated themselves, and Loki braced himself for whatever Thor suddenly felt such a need to tell them all.

Thor looked around at his friends, who were there to support him, as the Bristol household were there for Loki. Darcy was clearly suppressing an expression of avid interest, and Selvig looked rather worried. Jane alone seemed to know what was coming, had of course already been taken into Thor's confidence. She glanced once at Loki, and there was no dislike in her glance. Of course not. Jane was like Thor that way, generous and kind to a fault. 

"Brother," Thor's voice broke into Loki's thoughts. "You have been asking about my... feelings... when I was banished."

"When I betrayed you," Loki corrected quietly. There was no point in trying to spare his own feelings, after all this. Not in front of his brother's friends. 

Thor winced again, and looked around at those friends. "You know I came here in exile, having been banished by my father. I am not sure I ever explained to all of you exactly _why_ I was banished."

"It was _his_ fault," Darcy spoke up. "Your friends told us that, remember?" Loki kept his face carefully impassive, although his eyes were beginning to sting. 

And Thor smiled suddenly. It was not a happy smile. "Well, partly, perhaps. Loki set something in motion that he could not control, and his reasons for doing so were... not praiseworthy. But the immediate reason for my banishment was, I conducted a murderous raid on the palace of Jotunheim, and so provoked a war with that realm. Whatever Loki did, it is perhaps important to remember that what _I_ did was of my own free will, and my punishment for it was deserved. I was stripped of most of my powers and sent here to learn a little humility. Which, if you recall, did not begin at all well, and led to my imprisonment by SHIELD." Loki cringed inside at the thought, and Thor looked back at him. "I told you that Loki came to see me."

"And told you a lot of cruel lies," Selvig said evenly. "Although we only knew they were lies after your friends came."

"Yes," Loki agreed quietly. "I did. There was no excuse for it."

"I remember how glad I was to see you," Thor went on, as though no one had spoken. "I was sure you had come to help me, as you always did. I looked at you and... And you know, it was the first time I had done that in longer than I can remember."

"Done what?" Darcy asked, when the pause had become uncomfortable. Loki, who had no idea what Thor was talking about, looked in confusion at his brother. 

_"Looked at him,"_ Thor said. "I generally did not, you know. Not unless I needed something from him. Before my intended coronation, after it was disrupted, the whole time we were on Jotunheim and Loki was trying to talk our way out of disaster-- an effort that seemed dishonorable to me-- I do not think I looked at my brother once. He was there, filling his accustomed role as my stooge, in his accustomed place at my heel, offering me help when I needed it, and I did not have to look at him or pay him any attention. And it had been thus for longer than I could remember. Centuries. 

"But this time, when you came to me, brother, you had been made king until Father woke, and you knew you were a creature I had always sworn to kill, to wipe out. I think you told me, once, that you thought I might have known."

"Yes," Loki said finally. "I thought... We were so close, when we were very young. But then you left me, you found new friends and would not let me share them. I could not understand it when we were children, but after I found out what I was, I thought... I thought Father must have told you, when you were old enough to understand, must have explained that I was not really your brother, but that I could still be useful, and you must keep up the pretense until the time came for me to serve my purpose. I thought that was why you wanted nothing to do with me, except-- "

"Except when you were useful to me," Thor finished the thought for him. "And then you learned the truth, or what you thought was the truth, about yourself. Father's attempts at reassurance sounded more like confessions, Mother was worse than useless, and you must have been _furious,_ furious and terrified, when you came to deal with me. Did you think, perhaps, that when I learned what you were, I might carry out against you the threats I had always made against the Jotnar?"

"Of course not," Loki whispered, and had no idea whether he spoke the truth. 

Thor, to his relief, did not pursue the question. "Of course you could not let me come home then, that would have made your position untenable. But you also believed I had been part of the deception... and then I, who had scorned you, was suddenly so glad to see you, when I needed help. Once again, when I wanted something-- "

"That is not fair," Loki mumbled. 

"But it is the truth," Thor replied remorselessly. "I had not thought of you once in my exile, any more than I had thought of you at any time before-- "

"Well, why would you?" Loki argued. "You had plenty of other things on your mind-- "

"-- unless I needed you," Thor repeated, again as though Loki had not spoken. "And then, when my friends came to retrieve me, to replace you on the throne of Asgard-- "

"But you were the heir," Darcy argued. "Loki was only king because he had tricked everyone. It was supposed to be you."

"It was," Thor agreed. "Until I _attacked a neighbouring realm_ and _started a war._ My friends conveniently left that part out, but the fact remains that I was banished _for acts that were my own._ Of course Loki should also have been punished for his part in setting all that in motion, but that does not negate the punishments _I_ earned for _myself._ I was not some harmless innocent, regardless of what my friends told you, and regardless of how I behaved toward all of you, who were being kind to me and had earned my protection." Loki opened his mouth to object, but Thor gave him a look of such concentrated command that he closed it without uttering a syllable. 

"And then, when it looked like my friends were going to bring me back, so I could punish you for having the temerity to take your place in the succession, force you back into your old role-- you rather lost your head, did you not, brother?" Thor said. "What you did, with the Destroyer-- "

"I believe the word you are searching for is _tantrum,_ brother," Loki said stiffly. 

"Yes, I suppose it was," Thor agreed. "And there is no excuse for what you did to the town." And that was true: Darcy was quite right to take him to task for that. Only... she had not: she had only spoken of how shamefully he had treated Thor. "And then," Thor said, "when it became clear my friends were no match for the Destroyer, I went to... reason with you."

"And if you had not," Loki admitted, "if you and your friends had not been there, what might I have done to the mortals?" He could not look at the humans, but Thor's eyes held his. 

"Yes, of course, brother," he said. "If it had not been for us, think of what you might have sent the Destroyer to do in Midgard." Loki looked down, twisting his hands together, and nodded. Thor sighed. 

"Thor, it's true," Darcy said. "If it hadn't been for you-- "

"Darcy," said Thor, "think. _Why was the Destroyer sent to Midgard?"_ Loki did not understand, could not look at his brother, but Darcy stopped objecting. Thor went on, "I recognized that my friends could not defeat the monster, that what force of arms we could muster was not enough. And I knew it had to be sent for me. By you. You, who had been my faithful follower, who obeyed and supported me, had suddenly betrayed and lied to and hurt me. I had to stop it, and so I said whatever I could think of, to try to calm you so that you would stop.

"And it worked: you killed me, and let everyone else go."

Loki looked up in desperation, losing the battle not to cry. "I did not mean to. I… I did not believe I could _really_ hurt you. Not Thor. And I was still angry that you did not-- "

"That I did not understand? That I could stand there pleading ignorance, who had watched you drown in despair and loneliness before my eyes for six hundred years and more, and made no move to help you? That I could look you in the eyes and _lie to you?_ You did not mean to kill me, you just wanted to backhand me in the face and _stop my words?"_ Loki looked away, wishing he could put his fingers in his ears, and Thor went on, 

"And then my strength came back, and my first thought was to punish you. You see how long my new humility lasted. I still do not understand why Mjolnir did not fall from my hand at that moment. I planned to go back to Asgard, remove you from the throne, beat you into submission if I had to. If you had appeared sane when you confronted me, I would certainly have done it. But when I saw the state you were in, I thought only to stop you, perhaps imprison you until Father woke-- even if you had not done what you did to Jotunheim, of course you must be punished for taking your place in the succession, instead of defying everyone to put me back in my old place, whether I had earned it or not. You see how well my lesson had been learned. 

"And so we fought, and so you fell. 

"But then I missed you, more than I ever imagined I could. _You,_ not your magic when it was useful, or your blades when I needed them. I missed the little boy who had held my hand. And I was… so hurt. I kept thinking of my little brother, my _baby,_ and thought of what he had done to me. I thought... he must be lost to me forever.

"I missed you, and I would haunt the library, sit in the places I was told you liked to sit, looking at books I was told you liked to read. And after a while Father broke the enchantments that protected your rooms from me-- not from servants, not from Mother, only me-- and I would go there and sit among your things, and I would think of you. 

"And always, I remembered you as my loving baby brother, the little one who trusted and looked up to me. Never as the young man you were, who was grown so handsome and so tall, and who I did not know at all. 

"It was only after I met you in your new home that I realized, I thought of you at that age because _that was the only time in our lives when my treatment of you did not fill me with shame._ I ran from you, left you behind and did my best to drive you away. And when you would not go, no matter what I did to you, I used your talents for my own acclaim and told myself it was _leadership."_ Loki started to protest and Thor waved him to be still. "And even after you _died,_ I would not be honest, even to myself, and admit how much fault I bore in… not your actions, perhaps, but the way your mind and your heart had been twisted and damaged until those actions were possible. 

"I had nightmares, after that. I never remember having bad dreams until then, but I would dream of falling. Of watching you fall. Of lying on the ground, looking up at the Destroyer, only in the dream it would turn into me, and my friends were there too, just as big, standing over me, and I was tiny, with my bones broken and blood running down my throat from my nose, choking me, just like you that time you insulted Sif and we lured you into the woods and nearly killed you. 

"I would wake, and lie there afraid to go back to sleep, and I would wonder how many nights _you_ had lain in bed unable to sleep, wondering whether things would ever get any better or whether you were condemned to be that lonely for as long as you lived.

"And then, you know, it did not seem so unreasonable, that you had been unable to stand it, that you had finally given way. And when I thought of how I had treated you for so long-- "

"Thor, no," Loki finally interrupted, desperately wiping his streaming eyes. "I _earned_ that. After what I did to you, all that I did, I deserved-- " The look on Thor's face stopped him. Jane wore the same expression, one he could not understand. "What?"

Jane glanced at Thor, leaned carefully forward. "Loki, do you... you do remember the _order_ things happened in, don't you?"

"What?" Loki asked stupidly, looking from her to Thor, Darcy and Selvig swimming in the periphery of his vision. "Of course I--"

Thor reached over, laid a gentle hand on Loki's knee, recaptured his brother's attention. "You have asked me how I _felt_ about the things you did to me. I did feel hurt, Loki. I felt hurt and betrayed, and terribly sad. And then I remembered what _I_ had done to _you,_ how _I_ earned your anger and helped drive you to desperation, and now I _feel_ shame and sorrow-- and guilt for feeling hurt in the first place." Loki watched in horror as Thor's eyes welled up, and he blundered on, "When people behave as though I was entirely innocent, and your actions came from nowhere, and I am great-hearted for still calling you _brother_ , I want to hide somewhere. And when _you_ act as though I have done something wonderful, forgiving you for _finally turning on me_ after all those centuries, the shame is almost unbearable. I know it is part of my penance, the way your guilt and shame toward the Jotnar-- who really _were_ innocent-- is yours. But it can be very hard to bear."

Loki could not stand it anymore. "Brother, don't," he protested, scrambling toward Thor and wrapping his arms around him. "Please don't. I'm sorry, Thor, I'm so-- "

Thor, his arms tight around Loki, doubled up a fist and thumped it gently on his back. In a voice made nearly unrecognizable by tears, he said into his brother's shoulder: "Loki. _Stop. Apologizing. To me._ Please-- stop." 

"I'm-- " Loki caught himself, instead murmured soothingly, "All right. All right, Thor." He cast a desperate glance at Jane, cut his eyes toward the other two. _Please take them away. They should not see him like this._

Jane did not move, but Selvig stood abruptly, held out a hand to Darcy, and ushered her hastily out of the cottage. He cast one complicated glance at Loki as they went, but did not seem to be hostile toward him for provoking such an outburst. Darcy looked like she might be close to tears, herself. 

Loki shifted his grip on his brother to retrieve his replenished supply of clean tissues. After a long moment, Thor sat up and accepted them, but he did not move away from Loki. Loki, for his part, dared not apologize again for provoking all this, but with that route closed to him he had no idea what he should say. 

Jane finally reached over and laid a comforting hand on Thor's arm. "All right. It's all right. You've been needing for him to know all that, and now he does. And he doesn't love you any less because of it, do you, Loki?"

"What?" Loki looked at his brother in astonishment. "Of course not. Why would I-- ?"

"I was afraid," Thor muttered, "that if I... you have been behaving as if you could not remember much of what happened between us. I was afraid that if I reminded you, then you might-- But it was not fair to leave you thinking only of your part, and believing you were the only one... I did not realize just how much your memory had turned back on you, but I should have known..."

"Whoa, there, big fella," Jane said, incomprehensibly but kindly. "There was no way you could have known that until he told you." She glanced at Loki. "How long have you been feeling this way?"

"What way?" Loki asked helplessly. 

"Like the way you were treated as a kid was somehow punishment for the things you did as an adult, instead of a contributing factor." Loki looked at her blankly, and Jane sighed. "Tell you what: repeat this whole conversation to Annie sometime, when she's up to listening. I'm sure she'll be able to point out the part where you're getting confused. Okay?" Loki nodded. Jane reached up and ruffled Thor's hair affectionately. "All right. I know you've probably both got a lot more to say to each other, but is this maybe enough for one night?" The brothers traded a glance, and then both nodded. "Okay. Why don’t you both wash your faces, and I'll go find Darcy and Erik. We could all probably use some ice cream right now." 

~oOo~

The wind seemed even colder when Loki finally walked out of the cottage to take his leave a few hours later. Or perhaps it was only that his eyes still felt rather raw. In spite of that, he felt a great deal lighter than he had when he arrived. Darcy and Selvig wished him goodnight, and now there were no unsettling undertones in their manner. 

Jane and Thor walked outside with Loki to see him off. Thor embraced him first. 

"I am sorry it took me so long to gather the courage to tell you all this," Thor murmured. "And to be honest with my friends here. That was unfair of me." Loki wordlessly tightened his grip. 

Jane, quite matter-of-fact, hugged Loki and pulled his head down so she could kiss him quickly on the cheek. "Well, that was a more stressful first visit than anyone was hoping for," she said, "but at least it's out of the way."

"I will be sure to leave a decent interval before I come bothering you again," Loki joked weakly, thinking it would indeed be a warm day on Jotunheim before he inflicted his presence on Jane's friends again. 

"Oh, no," Jane replied firmly. "We said we wanted to show you around, and we meant it. You'll have to come back soon." 

"Thank you," Loki managed, and turned back to embrace Thor once again. This time he said, "You really must not... do not think that way, brother. I could not ask for-- "

Thor patted him. "I hope you know, if I could have only one brother, I am very glad that one is you. Tell your friends hello from me, and I am sure I will see you again soon."

Loki released Thor, turned a rather watery smile on both him and Jane, and reached toward Yggdrasil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Notes:** Ordinarily, I let a chapter speak for itself, rather than try to explain it in the notes. (For one thing, most readers are sharper than I am, anyway!)_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _However, in this one case I just want to make sure this is clear: Thor is every bit as subjective (and unfair to himself) as Loki, and his perspective, while real to him, should not be taken as objective truth any more than Loki's._


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** The second half of this chapter contains another scene adapted from **Being Human** canon. We're getting down to the end of the story here!
> 
>  **Warnings:** None needed. Except, well, _Owen._

Annie uncapped a purplish-red marker and sniffed it delicately. "Raspberry," she announced. "And quite convincing, really. Have you smelled this one?"

"I am not sure," Loki's voice came from under the television stand. "Do I even know what a raspberry is?"

"Little red knobbly berry," Annie replied. "I'm quite sure we have raspberry jam in the fridge." She replaced the marker in the package and picked up the brown one. "Cinnamon," she announced, after a moment. "Very cinnamony. What have you got?" 

"Do you mean, 'what does this marker smell like?'" Loki asked. 

"Ýes. And what colour is it?"

"Green." Sound of sniffing. "It appears to be mint."

"Ooh," Annie said. "These are really nice markers. Pretty colours, too."

"If you like them, I will buy you a packet," Loki promised. 

"You're so good to me," Annie teased, uncapping the pink marker (watermelon) and drawing a heart on the notepad by the telephone. "Where did this lot come from?"

"I may have borrowed them from the storage cabinet in the nursery classroom," Loki admitted. "I know from experience they are easy to wash off painted walls, and so they seemed most appropriate for this experiment."

"Good thinking." Annie tucked the markers back into their packet and closed it. "Too bad there isn't a grey one, it could smell of rhinoceros." She slid off the sofa to sit on the floor, where it was easier to see what Loki was doing. "Are you sure I can't help?"

"Positive," Loki replied. "I appreciate the offer, but Scamp and the kittens are giving me all the assistance I can manage." As Annie laughed, he added, "Also, the runes involved are rather complex, and easily confused with one another. If one does not actually know how to read them-- "

"I might get the order mixed up," Annie completed the thought, to demonstrate her understanding of the magical principle. "And then… it would be like writing a sentence in the wrong order, wouldn't it?"

"Something like that," Loki replied, as he crawled out from under the television stand clutching the green marker. "Only instead of merely being incomprehensible, there is always the chance of something completely unexpected happening-- for instance everyone being invisible in one corner of the room." 

Annie considered. "Could it be that corner where Mitchell keeps dropping his jacket and things? Because I am getting tired of telling him to pick up after himself." 

Loki grinned at her and held out his hand for the markers. Annie tossed them to him, and when Scamp looked up with bright eyes, waiting for her turn to be tossed something, Annie rolled the red plastic ball across the floor toward the entryway. Scamp hurried after it, wagging her tail, with Philip and Elizabeth scuttling after her. 

Loki stood, stretched, and considered the markers. "Yellow for the more visible areas, I think? The spell does not require that the markings be obvious to the casual viewer."

"Good idea," Annie agreed, leaning back against the sofa. "Do you need a chair to stand on?" She waved one hand. "I can easily get you one."

Loki laughed. "I would appreciate that a great deal," he replied, and watched in impressed amusement as a chair crept slowly out of the kitchen and nudged against his leg. "Your control over your power is most impressive," he congratulated. 

"I'm kind of impressed myself," Annie admitted, with a half-embarrassed little smile. Loki moved the chair to a corner of the room, stepped up on it, and continued to write on the wall. Scamp came back with her red ball, trotted past Annie to the open door to the basement stairs, and after a moment came the sound of the ball bouncing down the stairs and the ghost dog scampering after. "Clever girl," Annie congratulated her in a croon, and ignored the yelp of surprise that came from Mitchell, downstairs doing laundry. 

It was a very peaceful late Saturday morning. Loki had returned from New Mexico just as the sun began to rise, to find Annie sitting up in the lounge watching _Pride and Prejudice_ with the sound turned down. Mitchell was still asleep, while George had apparently gone off with Nina shortly after Loki had left for New Mexico the night before, and had not been heard from since. 

Annie was obviously wide-awake, and Loki knew that, even if he went to bed, there was little chance he would sleep. He had therefore made tea, brought it out to the sofa, and listened as Annie, clutching her slowly-cooling mug and wiping her eyes frequently, had told him all about her encounter with her family. When Annie was finished with her story and had answered Loki's questions, she had asked him to explain why his own eyes were so red. And so he had told her about both the final family secret, and his recent conversation with his brother. 

And after that it had seemed like a good idea to just curl up together on the sofa and watch Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy find their happy ending. They were still there when Mitchell came down, looked at them for a moment, then disappeared into the kitchen and came out a few minutes later, with more tea and a plate of buttered toast to share with Loki.

Thus fortified, Mitchell had gone to begin the laundry, and Loki had gotten to work on the spell he hoped would help Annie. 

"I really wish I had found this enchantment a few days earlier," Loki fretted as he carefully inscribed lemon-scented runes above the basement door. "We might have been able to arrange to find some mortal to test its efficacy for us. As it is, we will not know whether it will work until-- "

"Until we try it," Annie said lightly. "Well, I don't know who we'd have tested it on, anyway. It's not like we could just ask someone round and spring me on them."

"If I had been thinking, I could have consulted Agent Coulson on whether it would be safe to ask assistance of the SHIELD office in London. We at least know that Agent Cray, if he is posted there still, is aware of supernatural activity in our household." 

"Well, he certainly knows there's a werewolf in the house," Annie agreed. 

Cray knew it because, some months ago, Loki had tried to feed him to George. Had not, admittedly, tried terribly _hard,_ but certainly the incident would have stuck in the agent's mind. Subsequent events, fortunately, had created a certain amount of goodwill between the agent and the Bristol household, so there was at least the possibility Cray would have agreed to make the trek there to help, had he been asked in time. 

But he had not, and Owen was due later this same evening, so as Loki wrote on the walls he found himself worrying about whether this untested charm would even work as it was intended. 

Well, there was nothing else for it but to try. 

Loki had only just found this spell when Thor had sent him the text containing the invitation to New Mexico. Loki had read it through a few times, had thought about it at work the next day, and then had made what preparations he could before leaving on his trip-- including the little matter of borrowing the markers. 

The spell involved inscribing runes (it was not necessary to use fruit-scented ink, but Loki thought chalk would be a less reliable medium, and leave the lower runes vulnerable to rubbing off on kitten fur) all around the room in which the confrontation was to take place. Loki had placed them at the top and bottom of each corner of the room, and also at strategic points between. Infused with his energy, there would be a sort of circuit activated, one that would wrap the space in a magical field that would render visible that which had been invisible to the mortal eye. 

"All right," he said, when the final rune was in place (drawn above the front window that had the coloured glass, Loki standing on the sofa in his sock feet to do so), "as the old people say, _the proof of the pudding is in the eating._ Let us see if this even reacts in the way we hope." He stepped down from the sofa.

"Just a second," Annie said quickly, as Loki started to lay his hand on one of the lower connecting markings. "I'll go get Mitchell so he can be here, too." 

"There may be nothing to see," Loki called after her, as she leaned through the basement door to call down. 

"You'd think after nine hundred years of successful magic, you'd have more confidence," Annie rebuked him.

"There have been quite a number of failures and disasters as well," Loki pointed out.

"Well, that's how we learn," Annie shrugged. 

"And it has certainly not been-- " Loki began to protest that he was not casting successful spells nine hundred years ago, but reconsidered: if one included involuntary shapeshifting, he supposed he had, after all. 

"Did I miss anything?" Mitchell asked, as he and Scamp appeared in the doorway a few moments later. 

"Not yet," Loki replied, took a deep breath, and reached up his outspread hand to the central rune inscribed halfway down the wall by the kitchen door. He closed his eyes, breathed evenly, felt power gather itself just below his heart and then begin to flow up his arm and out his palm and fingers. 

"Ooh," Annie said softly, and after a moment Loki opened his eyes. 

Annie, Mitchell, and all three pets were looking up with wide, fascinated eyes at the runes glowing all around the room, sparkling gold as the magic set itself. On the very edge of his hearing, Loki was aware of a low humming sound, as the room glowed with light. Gradually, it faded, leaving behind only the faintest scent of artificial fruit, perhaps a sign the spell retained the memory of the children's markers. Surely that indicated the magic was going to work?

After a long pause, Mitchell looked at Loki. "That's got to be a good sign, right? The way it lit up?"

"I hope so," Loki replied. 

As he spoke, Scamp turned toward the entryway, ears alert. At the same moment, the kittens scampered toward the front door. 

Which opened, to reveal George removing his coat as he walked in. He glanced down at the kittens and then behind himself to say, "Watch out, the cats are-- "

"I see them," Nina replied, leaning down to scoop up Elizabeth as she also came through the door. It was perhaps the influence of someone small and purring in her arms that caused her to smile in a perfectly friendly way. "Good morning. I don't think we've met. I'm George's friend Nina."

Loki's heart bounded painfully in his chest as he realized she was looking at, and speaking to, Annie. 

"Morning," Mitchell said, eyes wide, and then spluttered, "Excuse-- laundry-- gotta-- " and incontinently fled through the open door down the stairs to the basement. 

"Hello," Annie contributed, her tone also slightly manic. "Lovely to meet you. I'm Annie. Loki's friend. I'm, erm, a friend of Loki's." She clutched his arm as she spoke, positioning them so that Loki was between Nina and herself. 

"Yes," Loki agreed stupidly, while inside himself a most inconvenient triumphant voice was gleefully calling out, _It worked, itworkeditworkeditworked._ "Annie is... a friend of mine." He was conscious of being engulfed by an embarrassed flush, his ears so hot he was surprised that steam did not issue forth from them. Nina glanced down at Scamp, who flattened her own ears and wagged her tail in greeting. Loki did not feel up to offering an explanation for her presence.

As he stood there like an idiot, he realized that Nina's friendly smile had shifted. He felt a stab of panic at that, realizing he was behaving like a rank amateur, as if there was indeed something strange about Annie's presence in the room. He was a better liar than this, should be able to adjust more quickly to a situation-- and ordinarily he could, but ordinarily he had engineered the situation himself and felt in control of it. At the moment, all he could think was, _George is going to kill me._ And with good reason, though the last thing he would have done was to deliberately use Nina in a test of his spell, and especially not without consulting George first. George would be furious, and Nina--

Was looking amused, the friendliness shaded into understanding, and Loki realized she had drawn her own conclusions about the manner of _friend_ Annie was, why she was here so early in the day, and why she and Loki were so self-conscious about the situation. 

As misunderstandings went, this one could hardly have worked out better. Embarrassing though it undoubtedly was.

George, who-- unseen by Nina-- had been opening and closing his mouth like a fish, suddenly recovered his powers of speech. 

"Nina, would you like a cup of tea?" he asked, in a high voice. He cast one look at Loki that suggested they would _speak of this later,_ and then smiled awkwardly down at Nina as she turned to him. 

"I'd love one," she replied. George gestured toward the kitchen. Nina walked through the bead curtain, and George followed, still making _what is the meaning of this_ faces back at Loki, who said heartily,

"Well, I think it is time I saw Annie home. I hope to see you later, Nina." 

George made a snarling face behind Nina's back and disappeared into the kitchen. Left behind, Loki picked Annie up and twirled her around in silent triumph, Scamp leaping in a circle around them. Then, for Nina's benefit, Loki said in the most normal voice he could muster, 

"There is a very nice tea room not far from here. I wonder if I could interest you in a cinnamon bun?"

"That sounds delicious," Annie replied, loudly enough to be heard in the kitchen. Holding hands like a pair of children, she and Loki fled from the house with Scamp at their heels. 

~oOo~

George took considerable smoothing down, later, requiring liberal applications of Loki's best manner and Catherine's best baking. Even at that, it was a careful process. 

It transpired that George had in fact sent text messages to both Mitchell and Loki, warning them of his impending arrival home with Nina. Since he had not known of Loki's experiment, one could only assume he had been hoping to avoid any embarrassing and inexplicable scenes involving Loki disheveled on the sofa, embracing someone Nina was unable to see. 

"Really, George, anyone would think we have no self-control whatsoever," Loki rebuked-- not entirely fairly, on the recent evidence-- and passed him another cinnamon bun. George accepted it, grumbling, and Loki choked down his own amusement as he continued, "I really do apologize. I did not hear my mobile, and Mitchell's must have been upstairs in his room."

"It was," Mitchell said. "I chucked it in the chest of drawers last night, after I got the text from Owen saying when he'd be round today." He wiggled his fingers, in a gesture that indicated his hands felt dirty after taking the message-- or perhaps were just sticky with cinnamon sugar-- and picked up his own bun.

Loki turned conciliatory. "Surely no harm has been done? The conclusion Nina reached was a perfectly understandable one, and will not lead to further awkward questions."

"Except about why she can only see your girlfriend when she's in the lounge," George retorted. 

"George, we're going to wash off the runes when we're finished with Owen," Annie said patiently. "That's why Loki used the children's markers."

George, his mouth full of cinnamon bun, looked from Annie to Loki, and then to Mitchell, who nodded. Hastily chewing and swallowing, he protested, 

"Wait, _why?"_

"What do you mean?" Annie asked in confusion. "You said it yourself, George, it wouldn't be safe. Sooner or later some human would notice they can only see me in the lounge, and that'd lead to all sorts of awkward questions."

"But it's not like we have the neighbours in all the time," George argued. "Mitchell's gotten over that particular bit of foolishness. And... and it would be nice, if you could visit with Coulson or Tony Stark if they came to see us again." 

Annie her eyes bright, went over to the werewolf and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, George. Really. Now we know the spell works, we can set it again sometimes. But we can't enchant the whole house without draining Loki like a battery-- stop right there," she added, turning to Loki with a severe look on her face-- "and we can't leave it set for the same reason."

"I suppose not," George agreed, with a reluctance Loki loved him for. They all knew how continuous spell-casting tired Loki, but all four of them shared the wish there was some real cure for Annie's isolation. 

"We'll just have to invite the witches over more often," Annie said bracingly. 

"An excellent idea," Loki agreed, wrapping an arm around her. "And now... perhaps we should turn our attention to the matter of Owen." 

"Right," Annie agreed, her face going set and hard. It hurt and cheered Loki in equal parts, to see her look so grim. "For the last time," she went on, "let's turn our attention to Owen."

~oOo~

It was just past sunset when Owen texted that he was on his way over to the house. Half an hour passed before Loki, on watch at an upstairs window, saw him coming along the street, his shadow long and shifting under the streetlights. 

"Places, everyone," he called, as he came clattering down the stairs, using a phrase he had learned while acting as a stagehand at a school play last spring. Annie was looking rather pale, and he paused beside her. "All right?" he asked, trying for an encouraging smile. 

Annie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. Then she let go and took up her station, a few paces inside the lounge, with George and Mitchell flanking her and a few steps behind her. Loki set another charge of magic into the spell on the room, and took his position in the rear, so that they were standing in a diamond formation similar to a flight of aircraft. Loki thought of Spitfires, and hoped Annie was doing likewise. 

A moment later there was a sharp rap at the door, then the sound of a key in the lock, and Owen boldly let himself in. Turned to close the door behind himself, and saw Annie standing in the lounge with his three tenants behind her.

Say what you like about him, Owen had practice enough in villainy to retain his poise. He hesitated only a second before tucking the house keys back into his coat pocket, tilting his head on one side, and addressing the group in a tone of easy mockery:

"So-- the gang's all here." His glance flicked from Annie to the others, then back to her as he asked, "Who are they-- your backing singers?" No one spoke, which did not seem to bother Owen. He did an exaggerated double-take and exclaimed, "Oh, fuck-- you're not ghosts as well, are you? I _knew_ I should've got references!" Again, Annie did not respond, but from the set of her shoulders it was apparent she was no longer cowed by Owen. 

Who, apparently not recognizing the change in Annie's attitude toward him, allowed his lip to curl in a sneer as he took another step forward, in a posture he clearly intended to be intimidating, and said, 

"Can I ask you something? Is the point of all this to make me feel _guilty?_ Is _that_ what we're doing here?" He stopped, about an arm's length from Annie, smiled what was probably the same triumphant smile he had used to frighten her on the night of his "dream," and said coolly, "'Cause it won't work." 

His smile widened, eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction and not a single trace of madness. This was Owen revealed, the true Owen, freed from the disguises that enabled him to hide in plain sight among the ordinary kindly mortals of this realm. Looking at him, Loki wondered what sort of people had raised him, whether Owen too had parents, whether they knew he was a predator and congratulated him for it, had raised him to be so. Or whether some disaster in his early life had twisted him, turned him into this creature, bereft of conscience or heart, taking pleasure in the pain he inflicted on those weaker than himself. 

Loki wondered whether his parents, too, were ordinary kindly mortals, who watched his progress with fear and asked themselves what they had raised, how it had all come to this, that their son should have grown into this self-aggrandizing and vicious being. 

A being who now smiled at Annie with something more than even ordinary gratification, as he delivered what he obviously intended to be the _coup de grace._ He leaned a little closer and said, confidentially, "See, here's the thing they never tell you: if you kill someone and get away with it, you're _bulletproof."_ Something complacent and ugly glowed in his smile as he said, self-reverently, "You're a _god."_

It was once again apparent, the effect he expected his words to have on Annie. He was obviously waiting for her to recoil, to cower before him, to offer him her submission and indulge him with her fear, the sustenance upon which he had fed for so long. 

Instead, Annie held her ground, not even squaring her shoulders or raising her chin, as if facing him down took no effort of will or courage at all. As if Owen was nothing more than a mess on a clean floor, something unpleasant that must be dealt with, but-- once having done so-- Annie need never think of again. 

In a voice that was stern, but with an uncharacteristic hint of an arrogant drawl, Annie began to address to Owen the last words she would ever need to:

"There's a question you haven't asked yourself yet. If _I_ exist, what _else_ does?" 

It was apparent, from his expression, that Owen had indeed not asked himself that crucial question. Perhaps he was too self-centred for ordinary curiosity. Loki thought of Jane Foster, whose scientific interest also encompassed the humility to realize she did not know all, and who was endlessly willing to learn and to believe more. 

Owen, it was clear, had never troubled himself with such questions, and now, suddenly, he looked as though he was giving the matter thought. The exercise seemed to unsettle him. 

Annie, her body language clearly reflecting the sudden shift of power in the room, went on speaking, and now her tone registered scorn:

"You think you're the big bad wolf?" Slight tilt of her head. "You should see George on a full moon." George did not move, his expression of cold interest not faltering, but Owen seemed to see a threat in it. Annie went on, "You think you're a cold-blooded murderer? Mitchell was killing eighty years before you were even born." Owen's eyes flicked to Mitchell, and then he blanched in a way that suggested Mitchell had probably given him the black-eyed look, the one that had been the last thing so many hundreds of humans had ever seen. 

Annie was frankly sneering as she went on, "You think you're a _god?_ Loki can tell you what a real god would make of you and your pathetic little pretensions." Loki did not move, but a glamour shivered over him, changing his inconspicuous human garb into shining gold and bronze armour, completed by the menacing horned helmet that made him look as one with ambitions to supervillainy. Owen flinched a little at the sight.

After a moment, Loki allowed the glamour to subside, returning the focus to Annie as she took a slow step forward. Owen edged backward, apparently involuntarily. The temperature in the room plunged as Annie glanced from one friend to the next, her expression hard-edged and satisfied, before she turned back to Owen. 

"Don't you get it yet?" she asked, with cool disdain, facing down the foolish little man who pretended to powers he could not begin to understand. "I'm just the tip of the iceberg; I'm _good cop."_ She nearly laughed as she went on derisively, "Look at you, so pleased with your grubby little murder. Fact is, when it comes to pure naked evil, you're an amateur." Annie stepped forward again, and Owen's throat worked visibly as he tried to hold his ground, while she prowled around him, circling like a predator. Annie's voice was a taunting lilt as she nearly crooned, "I want you to know-- you wandered off the path. This is where the wild things are, and _we've got your scent now."_

Dropping back to the matter-of-fact coolness that was more frightening than any of Owen's posturings had ever been, she said, "We can find you at the edge of the earth, and create _unimaginable_ tortures..." Owen frankly recoiled from her now, although he seemed frozen in place by a spell beyond any Loki could have cast upon him. Annie paused at his elbow, taking in his suddenly stiff posture, amused and cruel and unforgiving. 

"Don't think you can leave here and go take it out on that poor silly Janey, either. Don't think no one will know, if you use her again to make yourself feel powerful or important. You think you're a _god_ \-- there's a real god watching all this. Oh, no-- not the one they told you about in church, back when you were a child, when someone tried to teach you right from wrong, when someone thought you might still be worth saving. Not the one who _forgives your sins._ This god is Heimdall the Guardian, the All-Seeing, and the thing you need to know about him is, he's a bit like Father Christmas: he sees you when you're sleeping, and he knows when you're awake. He _knows_ if you've been bad or good." She leaned into Owen's ear and spoke with quiet menace: "So be good, for goodness sake."

Owen seemed unable to take his eyes off her, like a mouse frozen under the gaze of a snake. Annie's own lip curled as she studied him, taking his full measure and seeing it for the speck it really was. 

Then she stepped back, finished with him, no longer interested, his fear and his future of no importance to her. In the kindly tone of one offering a last chance she fully expected him to waste, Annie said,

"My advice to you is, find a safe place, with locks, and bad dogs... and never _ever_ turn out the light."

Owen swallowed, and then, from the basement stairwell, through the open door, there came a terrible humming growling noise, the sound of something huge and hateful and _hungry._ Owen stared, mouth falling further open, and from the corner of his eye Loki could see something emerge from the stairwell.

In her true form she stood no higher than Loki's knee, had flopped-over ears and a delicate, smiling face, her tail curled over her back and her soft fur fluffy-black, except for a white locket at her throat and endearing white toes on her forefeet. 

Now, emerging from the darkness, sensing the intended threat to Annie and Annie's anger in return, the black dog was as tall as a large calf and equally burly, her ears carried tensely forward, rough black coat bristling from raised hackles, head up, brushy tail high and wagging slightly back and forth in a posture of confident threat. Her lips writhed back from her teeth, and the growl issuing forth was as loud and deadly as the song of a Merlin engine. 

Moving deliberately, she stalked forward, eyes glowing crimson, pinning Owen in place, a creature meant to defend souls from the Devil himself, but more than willing to obliterate this minor annoyance if that was necessary to protect her new home. 

Annie glanced casually down, as if this apparition was expected, extended her hand in greeting. The giant black dog moved stiff-legged to her side, and Annie rested a hand upon her head, fingers spread between the creature's ears, elbow bent in a relaxed posture owing to the size of the beast. 

Owen whimpered, frozen in place, and the Grim opened her nightmare mouth in a frank snarl. 

Annie looked at Owen and spoke her final words in a tone as devoid of pity as the ice fields of Jotunheim:

"Leave now, and don't come back-- and just _hope_ we don’t take any further interest in you."

Owen looked from the Grim to Annie, swiftly past her to her friends, and back to Annie. He found no comfort anywhere. Annie inclined her head toward the door, and Owen went scuttling backwards as if she had used her powers on him. As he reached the door, Loki remembered something, and gestured. Owen shrieked as the spare keys to the house flew out of his pocket and into Annie's hand. 

A moment later he had fled out the door and slammed it behind himself. Loki, whose senses were extremely sharp, could hear his whimpering flight down the dark and silent street, and he hoped every shadow held menace. 

Annie let out a breath, and the little dog by her side leaped up with a laughing face, wagging her fluffy curled tail as she scrabbled at Annie's shins with her forepaws. Annie bent gracefully down to ruffle her fur. As she straightened, George let out a whistle. 

"Annie," he said, inadequately. "You were-- "

"Awesome," said Mitchell. 

"Terrifying," said George. 

"Wonderful," said Loki. 

"All of the above," said Annie, with a mischievous smile. She looked up at the ceiling, called out, "Sorry, Heimdall, we don't really expect you to watch his every move!" and burst out laughing. Loki took two long strides toward her. As he reached her Annie threw her arms around his neck and, for the second time that day, Loki picked her up and whirled her around. 

"I thought I'd be scared," she said, into the side of his neck. "Even after everything, I thought I'd be-- I always used to be so _scared_ of him. But I wasn't. It was as if... as if he'd never mattered. Not that he didn't matter _anymore_ , but that he never _had."_

"Of course he never has," Loki said, mostly into the top of her head. 

"You were pretty scary yourself," George was saying, in a shaky voice, as though he was unsure whether to be impressed or terrified. He stepped closer and Annie let go of Loki with one arm and threw it around him. 

"Yeah, no kidding," Mitchell agreed, moving in to join the general embrace. "I was petrified of you, myself." Annie leaned over to bump her forehead gently against his temple, and all four of them tightened, then broke, the hug. Loki kept an arm around her, and Annie leaned into him with a sigh of relief.

"It's over," she said, letting her head lean back against Loki's shoulder. "It's really-- I'm free of him. _Free._ I don't quite know what to do with myself."

"Sing," Loki teased, jostling her gently. 

"Dance," said George, wiggling his fingers at Scamp to make her jump up on her hind legs and spin around. 

"Guys?" Mitchell suddenly said, in a choked voice. The other three looked up at him and then, as one, turned in the direction he was looking. 

The bookcase in the wall near the entryway had disappeared. 

In its place, there was a door.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _Notes:_** In which we come to the end, with further nods to **Being Human** canon, especially some of the specifics of character, as we do. Part of the dialogue in the beginning of the chapter has been adapted from the show. 
> 
> This is quite a short chapter, but for pacing reasons I didn't want to roll it into the previous one. Thanks to everyone who's been reading, I hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> **Warnings:** For language.

"What's that?" Annie asked, her voice choked and breathless. 

It was a door. A perfectly ordinary-looking wooden door-- really quite pretty, as these things went, with a shining brass knob and panels of stained glass through which light glowed. 

Loki-- staring at first with blank incomprehension, and then dawning horror-- felt his heart first lurch and then actually stop beating. He did not feel it start again.

George and Mitchell both seemed to be struck dumb, and Annie went very still. After a moment, she gently extricated herself from Loki's suddenly nerveless grasp, and sat down abruptly on the edge of the sofa. Scamp, in turn, sat on Annie's feet, pressing against her as if to defend against whatever was on the other side of the door.

"Oh my God," Annie said softly, staring at the door. "It's here."

"So that's it," George said, his voice shaky. "That's... death." 

Annie was wide-eyed as she looked up at her friends. "Do I... do I _pack?"_

"No," Mitchell said softly, his eyes also pinned to the door. "I mean... I don't think so. I think you just go as you are."

"What is it, on the other side?" George asked, his eyes beginning to overflow. "Is it something good? Or... something else?"

"It is something good," Loki assured them, his voice dismal, as he walked over to sit on the other end of the sofa. Seeing the others looking at him, he forced his lips to twitch into a smile and pointed out, "How could it not be?"

Annie looked at him, then turned back at the door. Her face twisted in anguished indecision as she pressed her clenched hands to her mouth. After a moment she dropped them and blurted,

"Oh-- _fucking hell!"_

George, eyes streaming, made a flappy gesture and said reproachfully, "Eugh... you might want to have different last words."

"I don't-- Do I have to go?" Annie asked plaintively. She looked around at the others. "Do I?"

Mitchell spread his hands helplessly. "It was your unfinished business. That's why you were still here. And now it's-- "

"Finished," Loki said dully. "It was your reason for staying, and now it is complete."

Once, lifetimes ago, Annie had looked up into his eyes, had spoken of having a _purpose_ to keep her in the mortal world. She had said to him, _"I've sometimes wondered if it was you."_

It had been a beautiful thought, but it had never been true. He should have known it could not be true: it was not a purpose, but something _unfinished_ in her life that kept her here. Loki had not been of importance to her in life, had not even known her, and so he could not be the reason she stayed. 

Annie's cheeks were wet and her eyes stunned as she looked at her friends. Mitchell was firmly self-controlled, although his dark eyes were heartbroken. George was weeping openly. Loki--

Loki wanted to fall to his knees and howl. He was not sure why he had not yet done so. His heart-- which had so recently been at peace-- felt almost as it had in those days before his fall to madness: filling his entire chest, choking him, burning and aching until he did not think he could stand it. 

The difference, this time, was that he had no impulse to relieve his feelings by destruction. He knew it would not help. Crying would not either, probably, but it felt like a better option.

"Loki?" Annie said softly. She was looking at him as if for direction, for help in making her decision. 

_She would stay, if I asked her._

The thought passed through his mind, was recognized-- in a brief flash of longing-- as truth, and then rejected with loathing. He was a _repulsively_ selfish being, but he was not quite as bad as all that. Not yet.

Not anymore. Not to Annie. 

"You must-- " There was something lodged in his throat, something with sharp corners, and he could hardly force words past it-- "You must do what is right for you, Annie." He gathered all the self-control he could muster, and smiled at her. She frowned at him, not fooled, and so he abandoned the smile to speak plainly: "The business of your life is... You have settled it. You have no need to remain. You have, once and for all, dealt with Owen." 

"Yes," Annie said, sounding dazed. Loki started to wring his hands together, stopped himself. Instead, he waited in silence to hear what she would say. 

After a moment she stood, turned toward the door, and repeated, "I've dealt with Owen." Shook her head as though dazed, and said quietly, "That was it. All the things I've done since I died: fighting vampires, helping the Avengers, straightening things out with my family…" She turned and looked at Loki. "You… All that, and it turns out the _whole reason_ I stayed here was to have it out with Owen." 

She fell silent, stared at the door for what seemed to be a very long time, and then looked around at her friends, her expression unreadable. It chilled Loki to his bones, to look at Annie and have no idea what she was thinking.

Annie pressed her hands to her mouth again. Then, with sudden violence, she burst out, 

_"Fucking Owen."_

Loki and Mitchell flinched in surprise, while George frankly jumped and let out a startled little shriek. 

Giving no sign at all she had noticed their reaction, Annie went on passionately, 

"That _git_ \-- he _controlled_ my life, then he _ended_ my life, and now he gets to take my _afterlife,_ too? So he gets _everything?_ As if _he's_ more important than, than the Avengers, or my family, or my friends, or-- " 

Once more, her eyes fell on Loki. He gazed back at her with who-knew-what expression of stunned surprise, trying to fight down the hope that bubbled up in his chest. 

Annie made a violent pushing-away gesture and went raging on, _"No._ He's not taking _one more thing_ from me. My life, and my family, and the family I might have had-- that's all he gets. He can't take you away from me, too. He's not that _important_ to me. He doesn't _deserve_ to be that important to me." 

Mitchell, who after all knew more about death than all of them put together, even Loki-- had caused souls to pass over, or ghosts to appear, for nearly a hundred years-- stirred uneasily. 

"I think you should think a minute..." he began-- and was ruthlessly overruled by polite, sweet, deferential Annie. 

"That's what this means, you know," she said furiously. "It means that Owen-- or anyway something to do with Owen-- was more important to me in life than _anything else._ Well, that's not true anymore. That ended when my life did. He's not the centre of my existence now. I refuse to let him be." She turned to the door, as if it-- or someone on the other side of it-- could hear her. _"Do you hear me?_ I _refuse._ He's not my reason for being, he's _nothing_ to me. I've learned different, I've learned better, and he _does not get to take one more thing away from me._ I'm not going. Not now, and not like this. _I'm not going."_

There was a long moment in which no one spoke, and Loki was sure nobody breathed, either. Well-- he did not, at least.

And then the light on the other side of the door began to intensify, until it was glowing so brightly that Loki had to close his eyes against it. 

When he opened them again, he was looking at a book case. The door was gone. 

Loki lurched to his feet with a kind of sobbing gasp of incredulous relief. A moment later he had been knocked stumbling backward and sat down again, hard. It was not so much the armful of Annie that did it-- being hardly corporeal even to him, she did not weigh very much. No, it was George, landing on both of them and enfolding them in his arms, that did the trick. 

Mitchell had remained on his feet, and was staring at the book case where the door had been. He looked torn between joy and apprehension as he turned to the pile on the sofa. 

"There may be consequences," he warned, in a voice that was not quite steady.

"There are always consequences," Loki pointed out. "To everything." Mitchell nodded, Annie held out one hand, and a moment later the four friends-- and Scamp-- were piled up together on the sofa like a litter of kittens. 

~oOo~

It was early Sunday afternoon before Loki got around to washing away the runes. As it turned out, doing so left such obvious clean patches on the old paint that Loki pulled the furniture away from the walls and got down to doing a really thorough job scrubbing them. 

This was not a one-sorcerer job. Neither George nor Mitchell was terribly pleased at spending his Sunday at such a task.

"Couldn't you just leave them until we want to use them again?" George suggested. 

"No," Loki told him. "They would fade, or rub off over time, and that would compromise their ability to conduct magic. Which would certainly affect the spell, so all sorts of peculiar things might result. We will be better served to apply them freshly any time we need them."

"And we won't need them often," Annie said, from her seat on the sofa where she was cuddling the kittens in an attempt to placate them-- they had been terribly affronted, the night before, even after Loki had let them out of his bed chamber, and they still seemed rather cross and clingy. Loki wondered whether it was possible for a pet to inherit the ability to hold a grudge from its owner. 

George, who had no such skill, smiled at Annie. "We can put them back as often as you'd like."

"I don't see why we can't just take them off with magic," Mitchell complained, wincing in disgust as he reached above his head to scrub and water ran from the sponge in his hand down into his armpit. 

"We?" Loki repeated, his eyebrows climbing. Mitchell grinned and flicked water at him from the sponge. Loki flicked back, and then answered the real question: "The problem with using magic for a purpose such as this is, it can result in layers of conflicting spells being left behind, and sooner or later something unexpected is sure to happen." He gave the others a moment to consider exactly what "something unexpected" might be in this context, and then went on, "Since these markings can easily-- " From his position standing on a chair, George uttered a rude sound. Loki ignored it and went on, "-- be cleaned away without magic, it is safer to do it this way."

"So you always used to clean up your own chicken entrails? Very tidy, for a prince," teased Mitchell, who surely knew Loki had no inclination to use such materials in any spell-- quite apart from the mess, the sort of spell that called for sacrifice, animal or otherwise, was considered dark magic on Asgard, and (that last week notwithstanding) Loki had not ever actually been a dark sorcerer. 

"Yes," Loki said drily. "And feathers, too."

"Speaking of which," George said thoughtfully, "I was thinking of chicken pie for tea." Loki laughed and went back to his scrubbing, but Mitchell made a noise of agreement. 

"We have leeks and mushrooms," said Annie, who for a person who could not eat still took a keen interest in kitchen matters. "Someone's going to have to go buy some chicken, though. And soon, if it's going to be ready in time."

"I will do so when we are finished here," Loki offered. "Perhaps you would accompany me?"

"I'd love to," Annie replied with a smile. "And-- I just thought of something-- " She gently scooted the kittens from her lap and went into the kitchen. There was a sound, as of someone ruffling through recipe books. After a moment she returned, waving a piece of paper. "My mother gave me her recipe, when I moved in with Owen. I made it once and he hated it."

"I foresee it becoming our favourite dish," Loki predicted, leaning over her shoulder to peek at the recipe. 

"I was just thinking the same thing," Mitchell agreed, while George-- who could only see the back of the sheet of paper-- loyally remarked that it looked delicious. 

Annie smiled at her housemates. "I'll stick it to the fridge with a magnet, so it's easy to find later." 

"Wonderful," Loki agreed, smiling back at her. He had just crawled behind the television stand when someone knocked on the door. 

Loki crawled back out, dropped the sponge into the bucket, and went to investigate-- the door was unlocked at this time of day, but no one in the household was inclined to simply call, "Come in" to an unknown visitor. It had been some time since they had any trouble with hostile vampires, but even so it was wise to know who one was inviting into one's home.

"Thor!" Loki exclaimed in surprise, pulling the door open wider and stepping aside to admit his brother. "How good to see you!" He was not sure what exactly Thor was doing here, but that did not mean he was not glad to see him. 

"Thor!" Mitchell called. "You can help us make our chicken pie!"

"Ooh, right," George exclaimed, clearly remembering the apple pie. Loki, remembering something himself, bolted up the stairs to his room. He came dashing back down a moment later. 

"I forgot to bring this to you, before," he explained to Thor, holding out a strip of red and black. Thor took it with a smile, and then a look of confusion. 

"What is it?" he asked, examining the carefully knotted threads. 

"It is... I made it," Loki explained, beginning to feel rather silly. "It is-- "

"Is that a friendship bracelet?" Annie demanded. 

"Um," said Loki. "Well, yes. Some of the children were making them, and they showed me-- " 

Thor looked at the bracelet, then at the ones Loki was wearing, and smiled. 

"Thank you, brother. It is beautiful."

Even Loki considered "beautiful" to be rather a stretch, but he was pleased Thor seemed to like it. 

"I thought you could keep it with-- wherever you keep the collar with the bell," he suggested. "It really would not be practical to wear with your armour."

"Perhaps not," Thor admitted. "And I would hate for something to happen to it, in a battle." 

Better the bracelet than his brother, in Loki's opinion, but never mind. 

"Have you come to visit?" he asked, trying to find a polite way of asking what Thor was doing here. "It is not that we are not delighted-- " he added hastily.

"I have just been in Asgard," Thor explained. "After I left Jane and her friends, I returned home, and-- " He looked very puzzled. "And when I arrived in Heimdall's Observatory, he asked me to return here, and carry a message for him." 

"A message?" Loki asked, blankly. "What do you mean, a message? Has he seen something he feels I should know about?"

Thor made a large shrug of confusion, and replied, "Actually, it is a message for Annie." He turned to her. "He says that you have his pledge. Does that make sense to you?"

Annie smiled. "It does. Can you tell him thank you very much, when you go back? And can you stay and have tea with us this afternoon?"

Thor smiled in his turn. "I would be delighted." He looked around at the lounge. "And if you have need of me, perhaps I could help with your cleaning?"

~oOo~

When the lounge was clean, and Thor had heard of the confrontation with Owen and congratulated Annie appropriately, she and Loki left him making pastry while George and Mitchell cut up vegetables, and ventured out to purchase chicken and other groceries. 

"We should probably get a cafetiere at some point," Annie remarked, as they entered the store, "and real coffee, for when Thor visits. He's too polite to complain, but I'm always sorry we only have instant coffee for him."

"Well, if we see one, we shall purchase it," Loki replied, touching his fingertips to his ear as he spoke, so as to give onlookers the impression he used a hands-free communication device. 

They rounded the end of a row of shelves, and nearly collided with a familiar figure. 

"Nina!" Loki exclaimed, steadying her basket as well as his own. "I am terribly sorry-- "

"No, no, it was nobody's fault," Nina replied, perfectly nicely. "I hope you weren't carrying eggs or anything breakable."

"Fortunately, no," Loki replied with a smile. He was about to utter a further pleasantry when Nina looked past him and added, 

"Hello again, Annie. It's nice to see you." 

Annie's eyes went wide and startled. Fortunately, at just that moment a young man with a laden shopping cart came along and tried to squeeze past Annie and Loki down the aisle. 

"Excuse me, miss," he murmured, and Annie stepped quickly out of the way with a-- rather dazed-- word of apology.

Luckily, Nina was on her way home to make biscuits for a book club gathering and could not linger. Even more luckily, she seemed too preoccupied with her list of required ingredients to notice Annie's manner as she said good afternoon, repeating that it was nice to see them both, and went away.

Fortunately, Annie had not sheltered a silver-tongued deceiver all this time without learning from him. She had need of such skills as they navigated the store, what with the humans around them smiling in passing, or excusing themselves as they reached past her, or simply behaving in general as though she was an attractive young woman they wished to acknowledge. 

It really was fortunate Loki had made a list, or they might have left without half the items they had come to purchase, including the chicken. Once out of the store, Annie turned to Loki and spoke in an undertone. 

"They can _see me._ Why can they _see_ me?" 

"I have no idea," Loki admitted, equally bewildered. And then something occurred to him. "Only... Annie, do you recall the night you remembered what Owen had done?" Suddenly grim, Annie nodded. "Well, when I...when I came to your room to speak to you... you were so distressed, and felt so low... Annie, it was as though you had become insubstantial, even to me. I could see through you-- " He paused, remembering that horrible feeling, of imagining Annie would vanish like smoke. 

Annie shivered. "I remember how I felt. Like I was... nothing."

Loki hastened to return to the point. "Yes. You felt like you were nothing, that Owen could have done such things to you. In spite of everything you have done for the world, for the Avengers, for your friends, there were still things... things that affected only you, that still hurt you and made you feel diminished. And now-- now, you have settled them, as well as you can. You have made peace with your family. You have banished Owen, and, and sent away the door. You have made claim to that which is _yours_ , so that no one can take it away without your leave. And perhaps that is what has caused-- " He gestured, to her and to everything. 

Annie looked stunned. "Mitchell said there would be _consequences."_

"He did," Loki agreed. "I confess, these were not the consequences I had in mind."

"No," Annie agreed. She glanced at him, and he knew they were both thinking the same thing: there would probably be other, less pleasant ones. 

But still... 

"As it is," he said thoughtfully, "it seems that, were I to kiss you right now, passing humans would see only a couple displaying excessive affection in public, as opposed to a lone madman making a spectacle of himself. Does it seem so to you?"

Annie's eyes lit up with mischief. "I think the only way to find out is to conduct an experiment."

"Indeed," Loki replied, as he leaned closer. "I think Tony and Jane would approve of our dedication to scientific-- " The rest of his remark was lost as Annie caught him by the front of his jacket and pulled him toward her. 

Jane and Tony really would have been proud of them. 

After a long moment, Annie released him. Loki glanced around. "Hmm. Our theory seems to be upheld."

"So it does," Annie agreed. "I think it's time we went home and shared the results with the rest of the team."

"As you wish," Loki replied, picking up the bag of shopping. Annie took his other hand quite openly, and together they set off toward the pink house. 

 

_END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** Annie's visibility and behaviour here is mostly taken from **Being Human** canon: she refused on several occasions to cross over, and eventually became quite famous within the ghost world for that reason. I've left her invisible throughout the series so far, but in fact depending on her frame of mind she can be visible to humans, and I thought this was a good time to go there.
> 
> In the series, Annie's door first appeared when she got "closure" on Owen: he went mad after their encounter, and turned himself in to the police for "protection" against the monsters he feared would hunt him. Given what's happened in this series so far, and in this story, I preferred to make Annie's fate more a matter of Annie's own actions, and subject to Annie's own choices. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this! You are all much appreciated!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Morning After](https://archiveofourown.org/works/692030) by [Mikkeneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko)
  * [And your little cat, too & Clockworks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/912205) by [FracturedIron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FracturedIron/pseuds/FracturedIron)
  * [Juggling and Brother Feels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/912218) by [FracturedIron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FracturedIron/pseuds/FracturedIron)
  * [Tony gets log piled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/913538) by [FracturedIron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FracturedIron/pseuds/FracturedIron)




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